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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220682">Future</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_47/pseuds/Writer_47'>Writer_47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nurture [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>142,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_47/pseuds/Writer_47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of Roman and Gerri's story as they work their way through the ups and downs of trying to build a relationship together in their unique situation. They broke up once, found their way back together, but that's just the start of the journey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nurture [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Logan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Future</strong>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 1 – Logan</strong>
</p>
<p>His car is outside the office sharp at 6:30, she rushes down ten minutes later, phone clutched to her ear mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ as she gets in, shrugging over the fact she’s still, clearly, working.</p>
<p>He leans over as they pull into traffic, kisses her cheek, he hasn’t seen her since she left him at his apartment the night before with a team of nurses who were decidedly not the caricatures he’d hoped for; matronly types who he’s afraid to let wash his dick for if they bite it off. He wonders if she did it on purpose.</p>
<p>She is snappy on the phone and so he sits back, unbuttons his jacket, watches the buildings going past, distracting himself by mentally calculating how much they’d cost and how many he could buy before he ran out of money. They make it a fair way down the block before he stops counting.</p>
<p>She sighs, but it is not the sound that suggests pleasure which he enjoys so very much, it is the sound of frustration and annoyance. She ends the call, grumbles.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he says, still gazing out of the window.</p>
<p>“Hi,” she replies, “sorry, some balls-up or other with this year’s fundraiser. It’s not even under my direction yet your father threw it into my lap this afternoon with the comment ‘fix it’. So, I’m fixing it.” She shrugged. “How’d it go with the leg?”</p>
<p>“Fucking positive there,” he said, moving his leg to show her.</p>
<p>“You’re wearing normal trousers.” She leant forward to touch his knee.</p>
<p>“Half a cast, took the other cumbersome thing off, I can move, limp-walk about like some deranged idiot, but I can move.”</p>
<p>“I’m very happy for you.” Her phone rang again and she rolled her eyes at him but answered it anyway.</p>
<p>It was fine, he knew how things worked, had played the game long enough himself to not even mind. Although perhaps he did. The tiniest, slightest amount. Because he wanted her to talk to him, comfort him, take his mind off of where they were going and who they were seeing.</p>
<p>Gerri drilled her fingers against the door as she listened to the caller, she was hungry, and hadn’t stopped to even give herself time to think about that during the day. But now she was sitting still she felt her body sag into the leather and she felt very tired, drained of energy. Perhaps she was getting too old for all this; flying in from London late then straight back to work early the next day.</p>
<p>The constant tapping of Roman’s knee drew her eye and she reached across, rested her hand on it until he settled. They sat like that for the rest of the journey.</p>
<p>From the car to the doorman to the elevator Roman was behind Gerri, staring at the back of her head, focussing on her, limping behind her as they headed inside.</p>
<p>The doors opened, they went in. She reached to press the button for their floor.</p>
<p>“Wait!” He said.</p>
<p>“What for?”</p>
<p>“Need a second.” He trilled his tongue in his mouth, eyes closed. “Alright, this is it.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Call me a piece of shit.”</p>
<p>“You’re a piece of shit.”</p>
<p>“Tell me I’m, I don’t know, the sperm that shouldn’t have made it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to say that.”</p>
<p>“How about not worth the clippings from his toenails.”</p>
<p>“Nor that.” She folded her arms. “Roman, we can’t stand in the elevator. Press the button.”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” he shook his arms, his shoulders, his head. “Gotta get some energy up. Give me an incentive.”</p>
<p>“Such as?”</p>
<p>“Like you’re gonna let me fuck you on the balcony for the whole of New York to see.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“Well, the hair thing then, let me masturbate in your hair.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.” She leant around him and pressed the button. “Pull yourself together or I’m not going home with you.”</p>
<p>“There we are you see, incentive.” He watched the numbers rise on the screen. “Maybe we should come back.”</p>
<p>“Roman, I don’t have time for this. I’ve a million things to do, I need to know where we stand, get it over with.”</p>
<p>“You’re fucking bossy.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it turns you on, I know.” The elevator stopped. “Right, come on.”</p>
<p>“Feel like I’m going to the fucking dentist with the Wicked witch of the West for comfort.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be fine,” she held his face, “we’ll be fine.” She pressed a firm kiss to his mouth before the doors opened.</p>
<p>Marcia greeted them in the lobby, and Roman was actually surprised to find he was glad she was there. Perhaps that meant she and his father had finally reconciled, that could put him in a better mood.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you were coming too Gerri,” she leans in, a kiss to either cheek. “You’re looking very well. Roman, you’re an absolute…” she shakes her head.</p>
<p>“Asshole, I know, thanks. Dad in his study?”</p>
<p>“We were going to eat, join us, have you had dinner?”</p>
<p>“No, we’re…” he started, then stopped himself, looking at Gerri who gave a short nod. “Yeah sure, dinner, why not. Yum.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hey,” Logan drawled, a dramatic gesture as he held his arms out wide as Roman approached him, “come here you fucking dumb ball-bag.” He gave him a quick hug, slapping him on the back. “How’s the leg?”</p>
<p>“Better today actually. Saw the specialist and no need for the huge pot, more flexibility, can actually fucking walk.”</p>
<p>“You were lucky, you know that don’t you?” He ruffled his hair. “How’s the car?”</p>
<p>“Totalled.”</p>
<p>“Well, thanks to Gerri nothing much more than a fine and some good publicity.” He seemed to notice her for the first time, looked her up and down. “You come straight from the office, Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Yes, and I need to go back later really.”</p>
<p>“Oh, surely not,” Marcia says as they head into the dining room. “An evening off won’t hurt.”</p>
<p>“Things to catch up on,” she says. “The fundraiser issues.” She won't mention the fact she feels she needs to prove herself, perhaps there won't be a chance to after tonight, but that pressure is there, the breath on the back of the neck. She's getting older - she can still do the job, but the pressure seems that much more intense these days.</p>
<p>“Fucking useless bastards the lot of them, I ought to fire the whole floor.” He clicked his fingers at Gerri, “She’s got more done in one afternoon than they’ve managed in a week. Fuckers.”</p>
<p>“She’s the best,” Roman said hopefully.</p>
<p>“Logan,” Marcia said, settling her hand on his arm, Roman notices this, it strikes him how Gerri does the same thing to calm him. Women, <em>manipulative care</em>, he’s not sure where the thought comes from. He isn’t his father; their relationship isn’t the same.</p>
<p>He follows the pair into the dining room, momentarily trips on the corner of the antique rug and Gerri catches his arm and then lets go as quickly before anyone sees. He turns his head sharply, mouths “Fuck!” dramatically and she shrugs her shoulders, raises her hands questioningly.</p>
<p>Logan takes his usual spot at the head of the table, Marcia on his left, Roman on his right, and, after debating it internally, Gerri takes the seat next to Roman.</p>
<p>“So, how was England?” He asks as the wine is poured.</p>
<p>“Very wet,” Gerri replied, spreading her napkin in her lap. “Flooded in places.” Beside her Roman is turning his fork over repeatedly, tapping it against the side of his plate.</p>
<p>“And Caroline?”</p>
<p>“I told you Dad; mum wasn’t there.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes forgot, I forget, the Caribbean, right? With the jerk-off.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roman laughs nervously.</p>
<p>“Probably for the best, her version of care would make the Gestapo tremble.”</p>
<p>Gerri was glad of the wine, she felt like she was lapping at it like some half-starved dog; she’d attended hundreds of family dinners over the years, but never as the potential main course, she was always on the outskirts, listening, watching, it was the actual family members who were there to be persecuted. Still, she knew one day her time would come.</p>
<p>There’s a salad to start, and Marica – thank God – is heading the conversation. She has been in Paris (Roman reflects on how close she must’ve been to him without making contact or arranging some potential meet up) staying with her son.</p>
<p>“He has another new girlfriend,” she says, “though this one could potentially be more permanent. Five months now, maybe I might just get grandchildren. Fingers crossed.”</p>
<p>Gerri smiles warmly, because if there’s one thing she knows how to do it’s keep on the good side of Logan’s wives. Marcia had lasted longer than she thought, but then she had also turned out to be much more intelligent and intuitive than initially assumed.</p>
<p>“That’s wonderful, he’s been getting on well there, hasn’t he Logan, with the European division. I’ve heard good things from Eveline.”</p>
<p>And that’s where life in the Roy household gets messy, because family and business are one in the same; if Marcia left, her son might suddenly find he wasn’t doing quite so well.</p>
<p>Roman is turning these very thoughts over in his mind as he tunes in and out of the chatter. He’s probably drunk more wine than he should have for this early in proceedings but there was never anything wrong with a bit of liquid courage. At school when he took exams, whenever he could be bothered to actually sit an exam, he’d always knocked back a shot of whisky before he went in, usually from a hip flask he’d stolen from the Gym teacher in his fourth year.</p>
<p>He kept flipping about this one thought – how do I get started? Raising the topic seemed the hard part, he couldn’t plan for the rest because he couldn’t plan for his father’s reaction. But he could start it on a positive in the hopes this would propel the rest of it forward positively. Right…</p>
<p>But the more he turned over the problem, the further he got from a solution. There were a thousand things he could say about Gerri. He could go back to being with her on that couch and think of all the wonderful, moving things they’d said to each other that seemed so unbelievable to him now. Because therein lay the problem.</p>
<p>That Roman Roy, the one who could feel so deeply and pledge himself to this one woman for the rest of his life, he didn’t exist in his father’s eyes because three years ago he hadn’t existed.</p>
<p>It had been some slow evolution unnoticed by the majority, and he still hid it, mostly because mocking him was a sport to the Roys so to actually present himself differently, as someone with ambition and work ethic and a hope for some kind of fucking normal relationship, was an alien to them. Roman was the dumb kid who knew fuck all about things. So, to sit there and say to his father that he was in love with this amazing woman either wouldn’t hold water, or, even worse, it’d be mocked.</p>
<p>He didn’t want the way they felt about each other to be reduced to yet another long-standing Roy family joke. It wasn’t a joke. He wasn’t.</p>
<p>There was fish for main, his plate was put in front of him, he pushed it back slightly, watched how the cream sauce slid about. And then there were bowls of vegetables, Marcia often preferred it this way, he’d noticed, for them to serve themselves as they did at Thanksgiving. His father passed him the potatoes and he watched as Marcia lifted another bowl across to Gerri.</p>
<p>“She doesn’t like spinach,” that was it, that was all he said. The simplest of statements.</p>
<p>And yet the fact he’d said it made the conversation around the table stall. The uncomfortable sense of things dawning hit him and he quickly took the bowl from Marcia instead and spooned the offending greens onto his plate.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know that,” Marica said sweetly.</p>
<p>“No, since childhood.” Gerri was trying her best not to look at Logan.</p>
<p>It seemed such an innocent thing, they worked closely together, they had spent hour upon hour upon hour together over the years; they had eaten together countless times. There was no reason for him not to know this kind of information about her, only it was Roman Roy, and he’d be hard pressed to remember the names of all of his past girlfriends, let alone their least favourite food.</p>
<p>“Something you two want to tell me?” Logan said softly.</p>
<p>Gerri had always hated his soft tone, in many ways, it often seemed more threatening than if he just lost it and yelled.</p>
<p>“Such as?” Roman was slicing into his sole, dancing around the obvious.</p>
<p>That annoyed her. Experience had taught her not to play games with Logan, just get to the fucking point.</p>
<p>“Yes.” She said firmly, cutting across Roman.</p>
<p>Logan threw his fork down, the clatter of it hitting the table made Roman flinch, Gerri noted the way his fingers curled in upon themselves on the table, his nails biting into his own palm.</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking tell me you’ve been poking her again.” He laughed harshly. “And with a fucking broken leg, that’s something to be proud of son. Well the fuck done.” He clapped.</p>
<p>“I’m confused,” Marcia said, looking from face to face.</p>
<p>“This fucked up freak –,” he was pointing his knife at him.</p>
<p>“Dad…” Roman said and at the same time Gerri overlapped again.</p>
<p>“Don’t say that about him.”</p>
<p>“Fucking mother-issues, I always knew it. Too many shrinks filling his head with too much bullshit.”</p>
<p>“I told you last time, it’s not that.”</p>
<p>“Last time?” Marcia repeated.</p>
<p>“He’s been boning her, hasn’t he, <em>why </em>though, who the fuck knows. I said ‘no’, Roman, I told you to put an end to it.”</p>
<p>“He did,” Gerri said, “immediately, on your orders. You know that. Right before Christmas.”</p>
<p>“All these months and you didn’t tell me?” Marcia was facing Logan.</p>
<p>“We’ll talk about that later, it’s not an issue. This is the issue. Whatever the fuck is going on here. Did you lie to me Roman, you taking the piss out of your old man?”</p>
<p>“No, Dad, I wouldn’t…”</p>
<p>“Logan he didn’t, isn’t. He did end it,” she wasn’t comfortable dragging feelings into this, but it seemed unlikely Roman was going to offer much of a battle at that point, so she pushed on, as awkward as she felt. “You saw the result,” she said, “you saw how he went.”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t give me that, this isn’t some fucking Disney bullshit playing out. Heartbroken bollocks.”</p>
<p>Roman closed her eyes, at points like this he’d usually make a joke, deflect, or drink heavily until it passed. He was used to being the butt of the insults, but to have his feelings discussed in an open forum was a very different thing. It made his skin crawl.</p>
<p>“It’s not just sex,” he said weakly. “I really care about her.”</p>
<p>Gerri moved uncomfortably in her seat.</p>
<p>“And you,” Logan directed his words at her. “What’s this to you?”</p>
<p>“I care very much about him, Logan.” She said honestly. “And yes, I know how odd that sounds, how implausible you might see this whole thing. I’ve known him since he was a child, but you can’t always account for how things evolve, can you?” She was biting on her lip in that nervous way she had that made Roman want to hold her.</p>
<p>“Men age like fine wine, apparently,” Logan said, “women like milk. They curdle.”</p>
<p>“Logan!” Marcia snapped, gone were the days where she would defend him blindly, he’d cut her out one too many times and their bond too had to be rebuilt, or it would simply wither. “I don’t see the issue, they’re both consenting adults, if this…”</p>
<p>“The issue is not whether two people, as oddly matched as they seem, want to fuck. The issue is I don’t buy it. There’s more to this.”</p>
<p>“What can I possibly say to prove it then?” Roman asked. “I can only tell you, Dad, that I want to be with her. It doesn’t harm you. I wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“He’s incredibly loyal to you,” Gerri added, she wanted to push it, say there was no reason for him to be because the more she’d got to know him, the deeper she’d gone down this rabbit hole, the more she questioned why Roman had even stuck around all these years.</p>
<p>He drummed his fingers upon the table, “There’s been no shortage of knives to the back of the old man over the past couple of years.” Logan said. “So forgive me if I don’t believe there’s not gonna be some coup d'etat built on the back of your infatuation with some dried up old coochy.”</p>
<p>“Fuck me, Dad. Jesus!” Roman exclaimed. “You insult me, you don’t insult her. Okay. Don’t!” He realised his voice was raised, that Logan was staring at him with the oddest unreadable expression, anger, almost pride. “I’m sorry,” he said more softly. “Just, not Gerri, okay. Hurt me if you must, if punishment has to be handed out throw it my way, I’m used to being the failure, played the role all my life.”</p>
<p>He felt Gerri move beside him, her hand on the table moved near his arm and he felt her little finger brush his wrist.</p>
<p>“Leave her alone. She’s done nothing wrong.”</p>
<p>“She made a promise, you remember that Gerri, in my office, you promised to leave my son alone and let him have a girl his own age. Give me grandchildren. Successors.”</p>
<p>“I do remember, Logan, very well. And I never set out to break that promise, you know I’ve always been on your side.”</p>
<p>“Loyalties shifting hey.” He said, calmer now.</p>
<p>She didn’t answer that because they were, they had, if Roman asked her to choose now she’d choose him, and go down with a sinking ship.</p>
<p>“She’s given her life to the company Dad, we both know that, we both know how much she does. Just let her be, okay, let her do her job.”</p>
<p>There was silence then.</p>
<p>Logan stared at his son as if it were the first time he’d met him. This wasn’t the boy that had fucked about on a damp field promising some poor kid a million bucks and then destroying it. It wasn’t even the same guy who had almost ballsed up the Pierce deal.</p>
<p>“This is your influence,” he said to Gerri, “this voice he’s found.”</p>
<p>She licked her lips, “I rather think it’s his own influence, growing up, experience, call it what you will.”</p>
<p>He nodded, reached for his glass, took a long drink still holding her gaze.</p>
<p>“He works hard for you Logan,” there were too many things she could say but they were Roman’s secrets, Roman’s feelings, not hers to reveal. “He has been, ever since the management training.”</p>
<p>“Karl was impressed,” he said grudgingly, “those ideas you sent over when you were in Germany, streamline ideas, money-savers.” He nodded, “It takes a lot to impress the old bastard.”</p>
<p>“Logan…” Marcia said softly, encouraging, her hand touching his arm again, fingers curling into the thick wool sweater he wore.</p>
<p>“Fine.” He snapped his fingers together, pulling his arm from her. “Fine. You two are… what do we say, fucking? Can’t call her your fucking girlfriend!”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to call us anything,” Roman said, “but she’ll be here, okay, family things, shit like that. I want her here with us, not just as general counsel.”</p>
<p>Logan stared at him for a long time.</p>
<p>“The dauphin’s dead.” He said solemnly, then lifted his glass to Roman. “Long live the replacement.”</p>
<p>Roman glanced at Gerri, the raised curved eyebrow saying more than enough.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Is it too early to say that went potentially better than I could have hoped for?” He said in the back of the car.</p>
<p>“Mm, I don’t want to start running before we’ve even walked,” she said. “It can’t be that easy.”</p>
<p>“Meaning?”</p>
<p>“Your father has a way of holding onto things.”</p>
<p>“He seemed alright with it though, didn’t he, when we left.”</p>
<p>She nodded, “Yes, he did. But still, I’ll watch my back for a few months just in case.”</p>
<p>He took hold of her hand, perhaps it was youth or the inability of a son to truly see who his father was but he was hopeful, he actually felt hopeful.</p>
<p>“Come back with me,” he said softly, “don’t go back to the office.”</p>
<p>She sighed heavily, “I have so many things to do.”</p>
<p>He shuffled closer to her, “Let me <em>do</em> you.”</p>
<p>“Roman,” her eyes flicked to the driver and then back to him. “Don’t you have a team of nurses in your apartment?”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he was sliding his finger along her leg, hovering around the hem of her dress. “Then let me come to yours.”</p>
<p>She considered this for a moment, but she had made a promise with herself she wouldn’t rush things, wouldn’t let him into every single inch of her life quite so quickly.</p>
<p>“I’ll come to yours if you get rid of the nurses.”</p>
<p>He slid back along the seat, already getting his phone out. “Done.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Another elevator, only his mood was vastly different in this one. Pushing up against her body, gripping her thigh as he lifted her leg up and pressed her back against the wall. The kind of hot and heavy kissing he remembered from his teenage years when he knew very little about the opposite sex other than getting his dick wet was the ultimate in pleasure (forget alcohol and drugs) and kissing was the first step along that road.</p>
<p>He slid his hand down and under her dress, pressing his fingers between her thighs until she moaned and her hand came down to meet his, pushing his back.</p>
<p>“Oh god, stop, are there cameras in here?”</p>
<p>“We can watch it later.”</p>
<p>“Fuck Roman,” she pushed him back again, trying to pull her skirt down, “I don’t want to end up on some sick internet site.”</p>
<p>He was laughing when the elevator stopped, hobbling out, heading down the hallway to his door. Gerri followed, this hot tingling sensation in her core; she knew she was behaving like a lovestruck girl, it didn’t seem to matter, the only thing in her head was the need to have him inside her again.</p>
<p>She dropped her bag inside the door, shrugged her jacket off, let it fall, hardly even thinking beyond touching him again. He'd kicked his shoes off, was unbuttoning his shirt, staring at her with that overwhelming lustful focus he could have when it was just the two of them alone together. She backed up to the door, slipped her feet from her heels (the relief) and then he was pressing against her again and there was that wonderful kissing that threatened to derail every good intention she had about working late into the night to get back on track.</p>
<p>His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, over her breasts, across her stomach, up her back, gripping her ass. She pushed his shirt free, remembered a time she had caught a glimpse of his chest and had stared, tangled up in her own silly desire and confused feelings; the confusion was long gone replaced now with the certainty that he found her as attractive and desirable as she did him.</p>
<p>He pulled on her hands, slowly turning her back into the room, there were no lights on, no sounds but their deep and laboured breathing.</p>
<p>The movement seemed to indicate she should move backwards, so she did, giggling at the way he tried to follow, dragging his foot with him.</p>
<p>“Stop.” It wasn’t usually he who gave instructions and that excited her, in the same way his early phone calls had excited her, listening to him get off to her voice – that was exciting, that turned her on. She hadn’t been able to admit that to herself then, she could now.</p>
<p>His hands slid over her hips, pulling her dress up to the tops of her thighs, over the top of her stockings, such an excruciatingly slow movement, her eyes on his face as he did it. His eyes were dark, the way they grew wide and focussed when he was aroused.</p>
<p>“You’re a sexy motherfucker,” he said, and her mouth twisted to one side, trying not to smile, failing.</p>
<p>He kissed her hotly, his tongue dragging along hers. Her fingers moved to the fastening of his trousers, fumbling in the half-light offered by his apartment windows. She had only just slid her hand inside, was pressing her palm against the bulge there, the heat of him sending yet another thrill that spiralled from the point where his fingers were pressing into her panties and right up inside her belly. The spark of something that needed to be taken to its absolute conclusion.</p>
<p>And then he surprised her. Turned her round so quickly she barely had time to think. Pressed her forward, not too hard, enough she could stop it if she wanted to. She didn’t. She wanted to let him do whatever he wanted. She was fumbling for something to hold onto, hands pressing into the back of the couch, fingers sliding along the leather. And all she could focus on was how he was tugging her panties down, one leg between hers, moving to find the right angle – it seemed an eternity, this burning desire waiting for him. She’d never been this turned on before, never wanted anyone as much. How did he give life to such desires? All these feelings colliding to make it the most absolute thing she’d ever done in her life.</p>
<p>His mouth moved over her ear and she twisted her head to seek his kiss, his tongue sliding over her cheek, she could hear herself panting, should have been embarrassed at herself for it. He was leaning against her bottom, not close enough, and she pressed back against him forcefully.</p>
<p>She heard him smile, whispering by her ear.</p>
<p>“Something you want?”</p>
<p>“Stop playing and fuck me.”</p>
<p>He slid inside her so slowly she wasn’t sure how he could stand it, where this control had come from, this need to delay the pleasure, make it last.</p>
<p>“Better?”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” she pressed her hand back until she touched his leg, digging her nails into his flesh. “Don’t stop.”</p>
<p>He pushed his face into her hair, moved his mouth to the back of her neck, pounded inside her simultaneously.</p>
<p>“Don’t take your love away again,” he said, pleaded, voice open and raw. “Gerri,” her name breathed, achingly, by her ear.</p>
<p>Her head fell forward with the exertion, hair spilling forward, and he dug his fingers into it, held it as the other hand gripped her hip and his body moved in time with hers until she was so close, the familiar tightening of her body that he knew well now. The slick heat of her sweeping over him, the intake of breath, the heightening of her voice moaning until she gasped gloriously and gripped him inside of her.</p>
<p>“Holy fuck, Gerri,” his head fell back, releasing inside her, and every single fleck of emotion he’d ever felt for her seemed to clash and climax in his chest.</p>
<p>He wanted to laugh, felt this intensity in his stomach as he leant over her body over the back of the couch.</p>
<p>“Will it just keep getting better?” He said, his chin pressed into her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Fuck knows, this is new to me too.” She gasped in response, still trying to control her breathing.</p>
<p>“Didn’t hurt you?” He kissed her cheek, her chin, up to her mouth when she moved to meet his.</p>
<p>“No,” she mumbled against his lips. “But fuck I might ache tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“I’m just going to…” he said as he slowly pulled out of her, and she made that odd sound in the back of her throat whenever he did that.</p>
<p>He tried to stand, felt the dull ache in his leg, cursed the fucking pot to hell.</p>
<p>“I’d carry you to bed,” he said, “in some sweeping gesture of manhood. But…” he indicated the leg as she pressed her hands into the back of the couch to push herself up.</p>
<p>“Shit my back,” she laughed, staggered, tried to push her dress back down.</p>
<p>“You’re getting dressed?” He asked.</p>
<p>“No, I’m not sure, am I?”</p>
<p>“I hope not.” He held his arms out and she moved closer to him, standing still as he pulled down the zip, lifted it up and over her head and lay it back over the arm of the couch. It was an oddly erotic movement, intense in its intimacy. “Want to take you to my bed.”</p>
<p>She wanted that too, to let him hold her as they fell asleep.</p>
<p>“I feel like,” he was the slightest bit awkward now, never entirely sure how to act after something that full-on. “like, should I offer you a drink or something?”</p>
<p>She laughed, her eyes bright and sparkling as she touched his face. “You hobble to bed; I’ll get the drinks. You got my favourite gin in, right?”</p>
<p>“Babe I considered buying the company for you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They drink Martinis – he’d never really cared for them before – laughing over some gossip he’d heard during the day, until his head finds its way to her lap, as it so often does, and he lays there and lets her stroke his hair.</p>
<p>“I like the smell of you,” he says, “and when you’re not here I like the smell of you on my bed.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to choose to see that as a good thing, not a disgusting thing.” She smiled down at him. “How’s your leg?”</p>
<p>“Painful, maybe overdid it today.”</p>
<p>“Gee, you think!” She laughed again. “That was rough wasn’t it, for a man with a broken leg, fresh from a car accident.”</p>
<p>“Can’t resist you.”</p>
<p>“Maybe take it easier tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>“I won’t come over.”</p>
<p>He pouted, “Don’t say that.” Then his eyes shot open, “Not too rough, was it?”</p>
<p>“No, not at all. I am big enough to confess I quite enjoyed it.”</p>
<p>“Quite?”</p>
<p>“I fucking well enjoyed it!” She smiled broadly, bending to kiss him. “Go to sleep.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that late.”</p>
<p>“No, but you’re on strong medication and have only just come off an accident and a long flight. Go to sleep.”</p>
<p>“What will you do?”</p>
<p>“Going to wait until you’re out cold and hunt for my green dress.”</p>
<p>His eyes flicked towards the bedside drawers.</p>
<p>“Ah, I see, close at hand.”</p>
<p>“You leave that be,” he yawned, “it’s my property now.”</p>
<p>She stroked her fingers over his forehead, “Who knew you’d be such a romantic.”</p>
<p>When he’s asleep she slides her body out from beneath his, feels a little like his nurse, nurturing him as she tucks the sheets around him, pops a pillow beneath his head.</p>
<p>She takes their glasses back to the kitchen area, leaves them to be cleaned when his staff return in the morning. There was a time he had told her to leave clothes here and she wonders if they remain despite their months apart. The adjoining room to his bedroom serves as a dressing room, wardrobes all the way around, her space was on the end by the door. She opens it, finds the few work-dresses she’d left there still hanging, two pairs of shoes standing beneath. Above on the shelf the few casual things she’d started to bring, jeans, a couple of comfy tops, she reaches up, pulls down a jumper and something slips from on top of it and lands on her feet. A ring box. She already knows what’s inside, the ring he had purchased at Christmas that she had liked so much in that shop on that wonderful date.</p>
<p>She doesn’t open the box. She puts it back on the shelf and takes down a pair of jeans instead, dressing, trying not wonder how often he came in here and buried his face in her clothes. She wonders if they do indeed still smell of her.</p>
<p>She trails her hand across the dresses where they hang, slides the hangers along as she takes stock of what is there, and then her hand touches something which is decidedly not hers. A thick grey sweater, hanging beside her clothes. She knows instantly it belongs to Logan, and there is a purity to that, a sweetness to it, that reminds her all over again why she loves this man sleeping in the other room.</p>
<p>It is quite a realisation, standing back, putting things back as they were, closing the wardrobe doors. Side-by-side, the clothes of the people he loves most in the world. She feels momentarily overwhelmed by that and turns the light off, closes the door.</p>
<p>In the lounge she calls for her car, gathers her things together, puts her jacket on, folds her dress and hides it in her bag.</p>
<p>She turns the lights off and leaves. In the back of the car she texts him:</p>
<p>
  <strong>&gt;Had to work. Will see you soon. Thanks for a rough night. xxx</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Family and Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Future </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter 2 – Family and Friends</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When he finds himself back in his first meeting since Europe he’s met as half-hero, half-idiot. Shiv, who now seems to be a regular at these things, takes great pleasure in mocking him mercilessly; Kendall, something of the sensitive type these days, slaps him on the back and seems genuinely pleased to see him alive.</p><p>He takes the ribbing with good grace when he hobbles into the conference room, nodding along to the jokes as they come thick and fast from all assembled. He takes the first chair by the door, across from Gerri, notices her smirk once or twice at the insults hurled his way, but otherwise she keeps her head down, tapping on her phone, as if she’s scared to make eye-contact with him.</p><p>There’s this secret between them, not in a negative way, not when they were hiding their relationship. It’s a good secret, something he keeps safe and warm in his chest and revisits when he’s lying in bed at night on his own. The things they do when they’re alone together, the things they say. He feels like he’s been gifted with something precious, she trusts him to keep these moments to himself, as he does her (not that it was ever in doubt she would – she’s far better at judging acceptable behaviour than he’s ever been).</p><p>But whereas in the past he might have boasted of conquests, the few he had, this is made even more special because it’s just between the two of them. He would never want to share what they said to each other in front of the fire, wouldn’t want anyone to know of how they made love on the couch, because it just exists between the two of them, and it’s elevated somehow because of that.</p><p>Still, odd though, sitting across from her and playing the professional role; listening to her don her usual work-mode attitude, the cutthroat approach, the tone that slices. He’s watching her at one point, trying to reconcile the cold bitch in front of him with the one who strokes his hair. They are one of the same, of course, and he enjoys them both.</p><p>If she wants to kick him in the balls and drag him around by a dog collar, he’d go with it.</p><p>If she wants to lay naked on a beach looking at stars, he’d go with it.</p><p>“You can’t stare,” she says at the end, when she’s deliberately taking her time gathering her things and he’s pretending to email her a report from his iPad and the room is empty.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“During the meeting, you were staring.”</p><p>“I was likely paying attention to what you were saying,” he notices she remains on the opposite side of the table, and with his leg still cumbersome he stays in his seat. “it’s good to maintain eye contact, we learnt that in management training.”</p><p>A raised eyebrow, “I wasn’t talking and you were staring.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t look so fucking good.”</p><p>She smiles at that, tries not to, folds her arms as she stands and looks across at him. “I don’t mind people knowing,” she says, “but I’m still trying to reign supreme here, you understand? There’s always someone ready to take you down.”</p><p>“I understand.” He shrugs, “I won’t stare.”</p><p>“Thank you.” She turns her watch on her wrist and glances at the time.</p><p>“Can you do a late lunch?”</p><p>“Already got plans, sorry.”</p><p>He sighs, shoulders slumping, “Not seen you since last week when you skulked out of my apartment under cover of darkness like some assassin.”</p><p>“You’ve seen me three days this week here.”</p><p>“That doesn’t fucking count, I mean really see you.”</p><p>She slips her bag over her arm, “I was rather hoping you might ask me on a date. But, you haven’t, so I figured you just weren’t all that into me.”</p><p>“Don’t tease.” He would have taken her out every night were it not for a combination of the pills and his odd sleep patterns as he readjusted to New York time. “I thought you wanted a bit of space, so, I gave you space.”</p><p>“Fair enough, I appreciate that.” She moves closer to him now, as if she’s looking at his iPad screen. “Text me though, hmm.”</p><p>“Let me fuck you on this table for them all to see.”</p><p>“A tempting offer, but I have plans and I don’t like to cancel.” She gives him the sweetest smile. “I’ll call you tonight?”</p><p>“If you can fit me in.”</p><p>She smiles enigmatically and then she’s gone, and he spends the next ten minutes drafting texts he never sends.</p><p>*</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Gerri says as she picks the lime from the side of her glass; she is out to lunch with one of her longest-standing girlfriends. “And tell me why I’ve agreed to margaritas in the middle of the afternoon?”</p><p>“Because after weeks and weeks of me begging to get time with you, you finally consented to a late lunch and took the afternoon off.”</p><p>“I’m sorry. Cheers.”</p><p>“Cheers. Seems you only have time for the boy now.”</p><p>“Don’t call him that, neither,” she groaned, slipping her glasses off.</p><p>“You should be proud, milf is nothing to be sneezed at.”</p><p>“It’s a derogatory term created by men for the amusement of men, I mean,” she took another sip of her cocktail. “It came from a movie where a kid fucks an apple pie for Christ’s sake. Hardly a ringing endorsement for a…”</p><p>Laura smiled, “A what?”</p><p>“Attractive older woman.” She preened. “Anyhow, Roman says I’m not a milf, I’m a w.h.i.p.”</p><p>“Well if Roman says,” her friend laughed. “What does it mean?”</p><p>“Woman who is <em>hot, intelligent and in her prime</em>.” She laughed.</p><p>“Oh, I like that, I like that a lot. I want to be a whip.”</p><p>“You already are darling. And rumour has it you carry one too.”</p><p>Laura gasped, “As if. I thought you were the one doing kinky things with young men.”</p><p>“Kinky!” Her eyes widened. “Where’s that come from?”</p><p>“Just on the grapevine.”</p><p>“Which grapevine?” she suddenly wasn’t finding it quite so amusing; she had visions of Roman spilling details to some erstwhile friend in the middle of a drunken ramble.</p><p>“I’m joking, I’m just winding you up, worked though… perhaps I’m not far off the mark.” Laura teased.</p><p>“Piss off, it’s not that,” though in her mind she recalled Roman licking Champagne from between her legs. “I think I’m feeling a little… temperamental perhaps. I don’t know. Cautious, that’s the word. More so than last time.”</p><p>“Well, no fucking wonder after what happened. Takes a lot to live down being dumped mid-way through a theatre performance.”</p><p>“Ohh thank you so very much for reminding me of that precious moment.”</p><p>Their salads arrived and Laura ordered two more margaritas.</p><p>“You could live down a cyclone, I know you, I’ve seen you do it. Remember when you’d been dating that guy for what, like three months, and then his wife introduced herself in a restaurant one night?”</p><p>“Oh fuck, I had forgotten that.”</p><p>“And you were so calm, what was it, ‘Well, he actually failed to inform me of your existence.’” She laughed. “That was the dinner party topic for a good few weeks.”</p><p>“Yes, and it was funny how he magically disappeared from being in the running for one of our director positions at Parks.”</p><p>“You’re too evil.”</p><p>“Men lie. We’re both used to it. If they can get their dick wet, then the lies just spill out.”</p><p>“Except Baird, he was a sweetheart with you.”</p><p>“Yes, he was.” She drank some water to try and keep her brain focussed.</p><p>“And Roman?”</p><p>“And Roman what?”</p><p>“Is he a sweetheart with you?”</p><p>She chewed her lip, “Yes, he is. But don’t… don’t compare them. Very, <em>very </em>different men.”</p><p>“The guy should be crawling on broken glass for the way he treated you.”</p><p>She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend him, but she did anyhow. “He had his reasons; it wasn’t all straightforward. Besides, we’ve worked through that now. We saw Logan too… Christ that was awkward. And now we have this family dinner.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Next week, wait what day are we on, Wednesday? It’s Saturday night. I’ve not even thought what to wear. Usually at these things I go in work-mode.”</p><p>“Go as a sexy ass mil… whip. Hey, you could take a whip, set the tone!”</p><p>“That would go down so well with his siblings who I have known all their lives…”</p><p>Laura laughed again, “Do you ever just stop and wonder what you’ve got yourself into?”</p><p>She swallowed a piece of chicken, took a drink, “Frequently.”</p><p>“In all seriousness…”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be serious with me, I rely on you for the girly giggle stuff. This is my chance to pretend I’m in some trendy rom-com thing. You and your high-fashion credentials.”</p><p>“Did you get the new samples I emailed out for next season?”</p><p>“Yes, and I’m going to order but I’ll come in, I think I need to be measured again.”</p><p>“You do look like you’ve lost weight.”</p><p>“I’ve been working so hard with Pierre. The thing with dating is you eat out all the time, and Roman’s like some wind-up action figure who never stops so he never gains weight and we share these gorgeous Asian dishes.”</p><p>Laura frowned, “You’re not trying to keep up with him, are you? I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you don’t feel like you need to…compete, perhaps?”</p><p>“No, of course not.” She finished her first margarita. “Perhaps a little.”</p><p>“You think he wants you a certain way?”</p><p>“No, he’s never said. It’s just logical isn’t it, you start dating someone, all the…” she whispered, “…sex stuff. You want to look good for him. And yes, maybe the pressure is there that little bit more because of the age thing. But I think I could stand to lose a little weight anyhow.”</p><p>“You looked fabulous before and you look fabulous now. Clearly he thought so prior to the weight loss.”</p><p>She shrugged, “I guess so.”</p><p>“It’s not like you to be insecure, I don’t like it.”</p><p>“I’m not being insecure,” she tried to laugh it off. “But it is a real, I mean you can’t just ignore it, sidestep it. It’s a real thing, age, and looks, and attraction.”</p><p>“Mmm, I guess. I mean, Charlie is twelve years older than me.”</p><p>“I know. And does it…” she turned her salad over with her fork, unsure if she really wanted to ask these questions, but Laura was one of her oldest friends, a real confidante over the years. “…I mean do you ever feel like he’s…?”</p><p>“What? Past it? Let me tell you he has far more energy for sex than I do! Besides, I love him, he loves me, none of that really matters.”</p><p>She thought of telling Laura she was in love, of telling her how Roman confessed in such a heartfelt way all his feelings for her. But instead she kept that to herself.</p><p>“You think this thing will last now?” Laura asked, and the phrasing of the question threw her slightly.</p><p>“In what regard?”</p><p>“I mean, do you see this being like a bit of fun for a year or so, or, do you think it will last longer. How long might it last?”</p><p>“I hadn’t quite thought that far ahead, but no, I mean, this is more than just a bit of fun.”</p><p>“For you?”</p><p>“For both of us.”</p><p>“Because he has a bit of a reputation.”</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>Laura held her hands up, “I mean this is the kindest possible way because I love you, but a few of us just feel –,”</p><p>“Excuse me, a few of you?”</p><p>“Honey,” she grabbed Gerri’s hands. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, do not take offence at this. But his reputation is not… well, good.”</p><p>“I’m not stupid, I rather know his reputation, and I think I’ve also taken the time to find out about the man beyond tabloid gossip too.” She took her hands back, took another sip of her drink. “I would hope my friends could do the same.”</p><p>“We will. Of course we will. You’re bringing him to the Easter ball, right?”</p><p>She hadn’t asked him yet. Hadn’t thought to.</p><p>“Yes,” she lied.</p><p>“So, we’ll meet him then and get to know him and, look if you’re happy that’s all we want. You know how much we all love you; we just want you to be safe, and happy. However long this lasts.”</p><p>That last line stung, a suggestion that even her friends had decided this was no long term thing. That pretty soon it would fizzle out. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did.</p><p>She had freed her afternoon and evening to spend with Laura, but she lied after dinner that she was needed back at work and instead texted Roman from the back of her car.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;Are you home?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Yes. Just.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;I’m coming over – get rid of the nurses.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Yes, ma’am!</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>His car is outside prompt on Saturday night, he doesn’t come up and she rather wished he had because she’d changed three times already and was still unsure if what she was wearing gave the right impression. Not work Gerri, not business Gerri. Perhaps attractive older woman Gerri who was relaxed enough to join in the family jokes – usually she’d sit them out, observe from the side-lines and internally react to whatever shit they threw at each other.</p><p>Now, she was unsure of her role. Clearly, she was no Willa, she knew too much and was too intelligent to make the vapid comments she did. She also couldn’t fall back on her youthful good looks in the way Willa did. She was also no Tom, and that whole thing unnerved her too – she could manipulate Tom, could use Tom, he was no match for her intellectually. But he was also part of the family, despite everything he remained Shiv’s husband and Gerri felt she had to tread very carefully now with that particular minefield.</p><p>And Greg. Fuck, how to handle Greg…?</p><p>“Is this okay?” She asked in the back of the car. “I went trousers because I don’t want to sit in the lounge and, those chairs are too soft and you fall back and your skirt rises… But is it, you know, smart enough, not too workwear-like?”</p><p>“You know, most people get in the car and start with ‘Hi’, maybe a kiss.”</p><p>“Oh you don’t need all that,” she pulled her seatbelt across her. “Do I look boring?”</p><p>“Of course not, why would you say that?”</p><p>She shrugged; she felt off tonight, she’d felt off since her lunch with Laura and that was three days ago.</p><p>“Don’t want to look boring next to you, it’s not like you’re bringing the glamour of Tabitha with you.”</p><p>It isn’t like her to say things like that, to care, let alone to sulk. He reaches to touch her wrist, two fingers tapping on the back of the diamond bracelet she wears.</p><p>“Something’s changed.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You’re different, since England.” He shrugged, “You were different there. The things you said –,”</p><p>“We’re home now, Roman, I have a lot of demands upon me, there’s never no pressure. You must understand that.”</p><p>“And that changes how you feel about me?”</p><p>“Of course not, no. But being back,” she huffed, turning her face to the window and the passing traffic. “Look, it took a lot for me to go public with you, to put that side of myself out there. And I was incredibly embarrassed. Not just hurt, personally, by you. But professionally damaged too. And socially. So, to expect me throw myself whole-heartedly into this again…”</p><p>“Right. So why are we even fucking bothering with tonight then?”</p><p>She snapped her head round to him, torn between realising she was upsetting him and feeling like she had to draw the battle-guard around herself. It was a long-learned apparatus. “Rome.” She said softly.</p><p>“You’re not into it, fine, into me, say so”</p><p>“Did I say that? Don’t act like a child.”</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t say that, that’s the same level of insult as when you used to complain about me using ‘mother’.”</p><p>“Alright, I appreciate that. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “But you’re pouting, sulking, you aren’t listening to what I said.”</p><p>“I heard very clearly what you said.”</p><p>“No, you hear what you want to hear – that because I want to take my time I’m not interested in pursuing this. Whilst what you should be hearing, what you should be focussing on, is the fact that I’m here putting myself through this undoubtedly excruciating family dinner in order to be with you. It’s all very well admitting we love each other, the next bit, the bit where you move forward and build something solid and worth bothering with, that’s the hard bit, Roman.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I thought I was doing that, putting the time and focus into it. Clearly I’m not.”</p><p>“You are. I know you are.” She reached to touch his leg, resting her warm palm on his outer thigh. “I’m not criticising you, what I’m trying to get you to recognise is that I’m nervous. Okay. Apprehensive. Usually when I get burnt, I don’t go back again.”</p><p>“Fuck sake,” he dropped his head back, groaning, running a hand through his hair. “You’re too grown up for me.”</p><p>“Well,” she pulled her hand back, felt shaky, like having low blood-sugar.</p><p>It seemed there was still a fine line with Roman – all or nothing – but then people didn’t change, or grow up, overnight. And despite their closeness, their absolute love for each other, they were still two different people, often with very different views and outlooks on life. She’d lived an entire lifetime in the twenty years difference between them, had been a wife, had been a mother. Her childhood had been relatively normal, privileged yes, full of opportunity, but certainly nowhere even close to his.</p><p>And at the very heart of this particular clash lay the most basic of differences between them – their sex. His experiences growing up as an extremely rich white man were quite removed from her experiences of growing up as an upper-middle class white woman. Like it or not the world was still built about patriarchy, she’d had to work hard not just to fight for a position based on her ability, but on her sex too. He couldn’t understand that, he could try, he could sympathise, but he couldn’t really know. It wouldn’t occur to him to reflect on all the times a man had guided her into an office with a hand to her back; or times when playing along with the flirtation was needed, even though it went against the grain of her being. Times she’d had to sit through meetings knowing her period had started and the pain in her lower belly was excruciating. So, to ask him to understand why she was apprehensive about pushing full-steam ahead with him again in a public forum was always going to be a challenge.</p><p>It was Roman, after all, and as vulnerable and ultimately sweet and kind as he’d turned out to be to her, there was always going to be that selfish little boy inside who demanded and got what he wanted.</p><p>“I love you,” he said as the car came to a halt, breaking the silence, as if that could instantly fix things like a band aid on a child.</p><p>“Oh goodness, Roman…”</p><p>But he was already getting out of the car, the driver helping him to move around to the kerb, and she unbuckled her seatbelt, was deliberately slow as she got out of the vehicle. She felt a bit like she was going to sit for the next three hours to slowly have her fingernails pulled out. And going in now with this needle of awkwardness between them was the perfect start to it all.</p><p>*</p><p>If he tried really hard he could switch his thoughts, think of the things he doesn’t like about her; everyone has faults after all. Standing on the opposite side of the room to her, watching as she chatted amiably to Marcia and sipped her wine and played the role of social butterfly so easily (whereas he always found it so hard, so false), he could try and quell the unease he felt by listing the things which didn’t make her so perfect.</p><p>Her legs, for example, weren’t very long, he thinks that, and he had always dated really tall women with long slender legs. She was fairly short as it went, but not in comparison to him, in that regard they fit together so well. And he liked the way he could rest his chin on her head when he stood behind her, or how she fit up against him in bed.</p><p>That kind of destroyed the point of the exercise.</p><p>Okay, so, she… she always had to be right, on everything, but that didn’t work because she <em>was</em> always right. She frowned when she was concentrating. But that went hand-in-hand with the eye rolls and the raised eyebrows and the way she twisted her mouth when she was amused by him or flicked her lip between her teeth when she was thinking. Or how she would stare at the news with this focussed expression, her chin down, the light hiding her eyes from him as it hit her glasses.</p><p>He loved all of these things because they were the tiny things about her that he had noticed, and that kept him close to her, because maybe only he noticed. Maybe only he knew how she liked to sleep on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. That she would start the night with the sheets pulled up around her throat and by the end of it they’d be thrown down to her waist. That when she climaxed this flush of pink would cover her chest and she’d make this delicious sound in the back of her throat and smile serenely with her eyes closed just for a second before she looked at him and those bright blue eyes were filled with joy. That orgasms made her tired and she liked to doze after, preferably in his arms.</p><p>He was turning into some form of fucking sad obsessive, he knew that, it scared him. He didn’t want it to stop.</p><p>It crossed his mind that Baird would have known these things. Possibly more. And that stings so he pushes it away.</p><p>She was currently keeping him at arm’s length. He knew that. Could be annoyed by that. But it wasn’t a fault, it was a coping mechanism, protection, he knew that too, deep down. He wasn’t that fucking stupid. He just had to ride it out, bide his time.</p><p>“I think we’re ready to eat,” Marcia announced, and he remained where he was as people filed into the dining room, leaning against the back of a chair, he was still slow-moving, still a bit wobbly on his feet.</p><p>She stopped, touched his arm, took his wine glass from him. “You okay?”</p><p>“A-ha, you?”</p><p>“Yes,” she gave him the quickest kiss, but it was soft and gentle. “So far, so good.”</p><p>“Yeah, the old man has been quiet.”</p><p>She helped him into the dining room, there were two spaces left in the middle of the table for them and Gerri felt a little like she was being eyed up as main course. But she sat beside him, and she smiled politely as everyone watched. She started measuring her every movement, whether she’d touched his arm, how she helped him with his chair, put his wine down in front of him. Would she look like a fussing old maid? How did they look sat side-by-side? Awkward? Odd? Mismatched? In love?</p><p>“So, Sophie has a recital,” Kendall suddenly said and it occurred to Gerri that Rava was there, on the end, by Logan. She had missed that earlier, but then Rava so often faded into the background of everyone’s mind. They were divorced now, she thought that was all done with.</p><p>“Er, it’s not a recital,” Rava said, “it’s a show, but she’s very excited.”</p><p>“Do they need funds?” Logan asked.</p><p>“No Dad, not money, Sophie wants people to come.”</p><p>“She’s made invites,” Rava said, reaching into her bag for them.</p><p>“That’s real cute,” Roman said sarcastically, “highlight of the year.”</p><p>“Don’t be a prick,” Shiv smiled. “She’s like what, nine?”</p><p>“Ten,” Rava corrected, and the invites went around the table, pink and purple glitter falling as they went.</p><p>“Aw, they’re real cute,” Willa said.</p><p>“Hey, you wanna go Ger, hot night out?” Roman teased.</p><p>Gerri opened the invite, smiling at the contents, “Reminds me of when my girls were dancing. God the costumes! The cost and the storage.”</p><p>“It’s horrendous,” Rava agreed. “But it’s been good for her confidence.”</p><p>“Maybe I should take up dancing.” Roman said.</p><p>“Yeah, like you need more confidence,” Greg commented. “I’ll come guys, book me a seat.”</p><p>“Dad?” Kendall prompted.</p><p>“Mm, not sure, Marcia will check the diary.” He put the invite down.</p><p>“Be good, maybe,” Kendall said, “build bridges, maybe, with the kids.”</p><p>Gerri licked her lips, looked down at her plate setting awkwardly; the last thing they needed was anyone poking the bear.</p><p>“I’ll look,” Marcia said, swooping in.</p><p>The first course arrived and Gerri felt Roman’s hand sneak beneath the table and squeeze her leg – one down, three to go, then coffee, then drinks, then home.</p><p>“So, it’s looking good for the market though,” Tom started and the conversation meandered onto relatively safe topics – the financial sector, the election, mocking Connor – and that was all fine, she actually found herself relaxing, joining in.</p><p>Beside her Roman laughed freely, the occasional brush of his hand against hers on the table, a reassuring bump of shoulders.</p><p>“So, mum called,” Shiv said, “a reminder about Christmas.”</p><p>“Fuck, that’s like eight months away. Jesus!” Roman exclaimed.</p><p>“Yeah, well, she’s already planning for numbers.”</p><p>Gerri realised where this was going and suddenly the fish course stuck in her throat. She reached for her wine.</p><p>“Yeah because there aren’t enough rooms in the motherfucking castle, right?” Roman said.</p><p>“I’m assuming you’re coming, Gerri,” Shiv said it so sweetly, so delicately, the words tripping off her tongue as if they were best friends exchanging pleasantries. “Mother was enquiring.”</p><p>“I bet she was,” Roman said, swirling his wine in his glass, “tell her to stick another child on the bonfire and stir her cauldron.”</p><p>Shiv laughed, “She was just interested in how things, this…” she indicated the pair of them with her hands, “…was going. So, Christmas?” She fixed her eyes on Gerri.</p><p>“Well, I mean, that’s rather a long way off, to know one’s plans.”</p><p>“What do you usually do, Gerri, I mean I know you come here for Thanksgiving and New Year too. Do you see your daughters at Christmas?” Shiv took a forkful of her food and Gerri rather felt like she was under the glare of the spotlight.</p><p>“No, not usually. Friends. Old friends.” She said.</p><p>“Ain’t that right,” Logan muttered from down the table and she felt her stomach swoop.</p><p>“You see the play-offs?” Greg asked, changing the subject, “Man, they were tight out there.”</p><p>“They’re being well and truly fucked this year with sponsorship,” Tom replied, “you see the quality? Pitiful.”</p><p>“Well, at least someone is getting fucked right, hey Gerri.” Logan suddenly called loudly down the table.</p><p>She looked up from her food, startled to hear her name come up, though, not entirely surprised by it – some people can bide their time, wait for the perfect moment.</p><p>She heard Shiv’s intake of breath and the word “Dad…” being exhaled, almost giggled.</p><p>She swallowed, put her fork down, reached for her wine.</p><p>“Very much so.” She replied.</p><p>Beside her Roman smirked, but across from her Greg let out a short, sharp laugh and then she regretted her words – if she’d made that fool laugh she was in trouble.</p><p>Logan didn’t appreciate it and the tone shifted instantly.</p><p>“Yes, yes, it’s all very funny. I mean at least one son has given me grandchildren so far, but this useless prick,” he jerked his thumb at Tom, “is clearly firing blanks and you,” he pointed at Roman, “stand no chance until you get bored of her and move your dick into another harbour.”</p><p>Roman leant forward, looking down the table, “Oh god, Dad, come on, please.”</p><p>“I have the upmost respect for Gerri, she’s been a loyal god send over the years, but I cannot condone her fucking my son.” He slammed his fist on the table.</p><p>“This is ridiculous, Dad.” Roman said. “We’ve been through this, we’ve sorted this.”</p><p>“No, the two of you together is ridiculous. You better start saving son, you get older your medical bills skyrocket.”</p><p>“What are you hoping to achieve, Logan?” Marcia snapped from the opposite end.</p><p>“To embarrass me,” Gerri said gently. Then looked at Logan as she put her glass down. “That’s fine, I didn’t expect to come here tonight and not have to take a few hits. And you want to pick away at my insecurities, fine,” she shrugged, unable to look anywhere but directly at Logan. “Everybody here knows there’s twenty years between Roman and I. Do you think it doesn’t bother me? Do you think I don’t notice when we walk into a restaurant together and people stare?”</p><p>Beside her Roman shuffled uncomfortably.</p><p>“We’ve known each other a lifetime, Logan.”</p><p>“I thought I knew you better.”</p><p>“Have you ever known me walk into anything blind? Really? I consider every situation from every angle, you know that, so you think I didn’t consider all the negatives that were going to go with this, of course I did. Does it bother me he won’t be a father if he stays with me? Of course. But I trust him enough to make that decision himself.”</p><p>“He’s pussy whipped, he doesn’t know what he wants.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, give him some credit. Yes, I’m older. Yes, he’s going to get bored, do you think I don’t know that too? Of course I do. One day he’ll want someone else.” She felt Roman shake his head next to her, his hand moving on top of hers on the table.</p><p>“Anything you throw at me I’ve considered a hundred times before. It doesn’t change how I feel about him now, nor him me. And we’re here tonight in good faith, because despite the apparent hostility towards us, we really do want to try and make this work.” She reached for her wine glass again, doing her best to keep the tremble from her hand. She was unsure where the outburst had come from – maybe it was a mixture of apprehension and still carrying the resentment from Laura’s comments. Maybe it was her own fears materialising.</p><p>Marcia let out a long, slow breath, she looked at Logan as he was about to speak and held her hand up. “Enough. I think we all know your father here was fucking Rhea last year. And what’s she… maybe twenty plus years younger. So,” she drilled her fingers on the table, “what’s good for the goose, hey.”</p><p>Shiv sat back in her chair. “Happy fucking family dinner.”</p><p>“Great fish,” Tom chipped in.</p><p>“Thank you, Tom.” Marcia said. “I think it’s about time we move to the main course though, don’t you all.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Roman mumbled, “bring it the fuck on.”</p><p>*</p><p>“You two?” Logan started once the duck had been served. “This divorce, was it not one of those real divorces then? Fucking make-believe one?”</p><p>“Logan,” Marcia hissed as he geared up for round two.</p><p>“I’m just asking, want to be clear what’s going on with my kids. I mean, she’s here more often now than when they were married.”</p><p>Rava put her napkin on the table, breathing deeply, and for a second Gerri thought she might leave.</p><p>“We’re just… finding our way,” Kendall tried to say but Logan was on a roll and already moving onto the next one.</p><p>“These two are somehow hanging on,” he said indicating Shiv and Tom, “Christ knows how, this dipshit. And you,” he turned to Roman, “You gonna marry her?”</p><p>“Come on Dad, not again.” Roman replied, uninterested in his food.</p><p>Beside him Gerri’s shoulders sagged, and he watched her push her fork around her plate and then put it down. She was flagging, try as she might to keep her energy up, to keep deflecting. She wasn’t stupid enough to think things would simply be fixed following the earlier dinner with Logan, she knew they’d still have to take some flack, but thinking it, and experiencing it, were very different things.</p><p>“Because you ever thought that’s what she wants?”</p><p>“It does give her an advantage,” Shiv offered, then shrugged when Roman shot her a look. “What? I’m just saying. It puts her in a good position, this is all a bit, I mean come on we’ve all thought it. Protect her position, manoeuvre her way to a more secure one.”</p><p>“That’s not fucking fair, Siobhan.” Roman barked, feeling a bit like he’d been lined up for the firing squad.</p><p>“Shiv, that’s a bit far,” Tom said.</p><p>“What? It’s true. Right Ken, we discussed it –,”</p><p>“You discussed it?” Roman snapped. “My fucking family, thanks for the support.”</p><p>“Well, are you going to marry her?” Logan asked again, their voices all overlapping in Roman’s head.</p><p>“Dad, we’ve only just started this again, for fucks sake, marriage? Really?”</p><p>“These are things we need to discuss, draw up something firm. She knows the ins and outs of every aspect of the company, son, start thinking with your brain not your dick. If she wanted to, with enough support behind her, we could all be out.”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Gerri put her napkin on the table, pushed her chair back and got up, quickly exiting the room.</p><p>“Oh, thanks very much, you bunch of bastards.” He got up too, “Why do we never do this with Tom and the potential threat he could be?”</p><p>“Because Tom couldn’t run a fucking Hot Dog stand on his own!” Logan roared, he was enjoying the drama, thriving on it.</p><p>“And Willa, we sit here with a call girl sharing our family meetings…”</p><p>“Hey –,” Connor started.</p><p>“…because our idiot brother thinks she loves him because of who he is and not for the thousands he’s giving her. Just a little support would’ve been nice. Thanks a lot.”</p><p>“You’re a real dick, Roman,” he hears Connor say as he stalks out of the room.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, suck my balls.”</p><p>*</p><p>He half ran down to the guest bathroom, going inside and tapping on the internal door. “Hey, it’s me, you alright?”</p><p>He heard her moving around inside, and then the door being unlocked.</p><p>“I’m so fucking sorry,” he was saying before she even had the door open.</p><p>Her face was set, stony.</p><p>“Cunt like behaviour from the lot of them.”</p><p>“But not unexpected.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I forget how exhausting you can all be. Easier when I’m just in the audience and not being used for target practice.”</p><p>He pressed his hand to her shoulder, “I am sorry. Hopefully when we go back spotlight will have shifted to Tom, in fact I could start it, I’ve got plenty of material to throw him under the bus.”</p><p>She half-smiled, “It’s okay. Just needed a break, then I can come out fighting again.”</p><p>“This is the thing; I don’t want to fight with them over this. I want them to just accept it.”</p><p>“They will, they have, your father is just, you know, getting his knife in whilst he can.” She rested her hands on his shoulders, smoothed his collar.</p><p>“In the car…” He started, because arguing with them stirred something in him, a real need to know they were on the same page, fighting the same battle.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about that now.” She shook her head.</p><p>“Okay. It’s just, if you’re not in the same place I am…”</p><p>She sighed again, “Why would you say that?”</p><p>“Erm, evidence is fucking mounting, Gerri.” He watched as her face altered, eyebrows rising.</p><p>“Right, so I’m here as what… entertainment for all tonight? For fucks sake.”</p><p>“Look, let’s just get back out there and get this done.”</p><p>“Yes, because it’s shaping up to be a swell evening all round.”</p><p>*</p><p>They sat at opposite ends of the seat in the back of the car, Gerri looking out of one window, Roman out of the other. As much as they were united at the table it didn’t mean things hadn’t been said which caused the both of them concern.</p><p>Awkwardness bred more awkwardness and right now he felt a million miles away from understanding what was in her head. How she felt about all this.</p><p>How did they do that, his family, how did they take something so pure and good in his life and turn it all to shit within a matter of hours?</p><p>“You’ll drop me at my apartment,” she said, and he turned to look at her then, well, to look at the back of her head.</p><p>“You’re not coming back with me?”</p><p>“I haven’t brought any of my things,” she was fidgeting, rubbing her fingers together in her lap. “I’d just like to sleep in my own bed.”</p><p>“Alright.” He turned in his seat now, “And I’m not invited, right?”</p><p>She reluctantly turned her face to his, “If you want to stay I’m not going to say no.”</p><p>“You sure about that, don’t want some space, you seem a bit pissed off?”</p><p>She shrugged, “I am.”</p><p>“With me?”</p><p>“No, why would I be?”</p><p>“Not sure, but this whole passive aggressive thing seems misdirected.”</p><p>She slid her hand over her purse as the car came to a halt, “Well, if you want to come in, you’re welcome to.”  She said as she got out of the car.</p><p>“Ringing fucking endorsement right there,” he said.</p><p>It was a Saturday night, somewhere someone he knew would be having some fucking massive party and he could drive on, be there within fifteen minutes snorting something to drown her out of his head. Drink himself into oblivion and get some girl to jerk him off on her tits and then this whole messy business where he had to worry about his feelings, and her feelings, and the whole fucking world’s feelings would disappear. And life would be easy.</p><p>He got out of the car.</p><p>Followed her inside.</p><p>They were silent in the elevator, he took off his jacket, thought about starting a conversation but her entire demeanour screamed ‘back off’, so he stood behind her, for the first time in his life finding he was in fact able to bite his tongue.</p><p>As he closed her apartment door behind them he watched her stomp off down the hallway towards her bedroom.</p><p>“This is fucking great, Gerri,” he called after her. “Is this my fault now?” He pulled his shirt free of his trousers, kicked his shoes off in the lounge and made a beeline for her liquor cabinet, pouring himself a large whisky.</p><p>They’d never argued before, not really, during the break they’d snapped at each other, but not a real argument, the kind couples have over everything and nothing. She didn’t have the time or patience for them really, she was too cool and calm to even engage with them or really lose her temper. But occasionally, very occasionally, something would just tip her over the edge. And Roman never got close enough or stuck around long enough to get to the point where there were real arguments. As soon as any potential sourness or rot set in, he was out.</p><p>“Gerri,” he called out again, “you wanna explain what’s going on? Or is this one of those woman things, you know, where men just don’t understand.”</p><p>“Well you don’t have to stay,” she snapped as she came into the room, she was in her robe now, barefoot.</p><p>“Why are you arguing with me?” He sank down onto her couch, “Why is this my fault?”</p><p>“It isn’t. I’m pissed off, I’m in a bad mood and I’m taking it out on you. Okay.”</p><p>“Not really. No. Seems like a pretty cunt-like thing to do, to be honest.”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“And there I was thinking I was the immature one in the relationship,” he groaned, tilted his head back. “I’m guessing there’s not gonna be any action tonight.”</p><p>“So that’s it, right,” she was pouring herself a large gin, “no fucking so you’re off?”</p><p>“You just told me not to stay.”</p><p>“No, I told you, you didn’t have to stay.”</p><p>“Christ, I can’t fucking win. Is this about my family, because to be fair you were in a bad mood from the moment I picked you up tonight. You needn’t have come if it was such a hardship.”</p><p>“Well I’m so glad I made the effort.”</p><p>“Then explain to me, please, slowly and in great detail, as to why I’m copping the hassle right now. What is this about?”</p><p>“This is about you being entirely self-centred.”</p><p>“Well, alright, but you were already well aware of that particular personality trait before you opened your legs.”</p><p>“You disgusting…”</p><p>He held his hands up, “Alright, alright, I take that back. I’m sorry. Look sit down, we can try to talk fucking sensibly. You’re usually good at that.”</p><p>“I have no desire to talk about anything with you, you’re so fucking neurotic. And why can’t you just clean up after yourself, this isn’t some frat house.” She picked his shoes up from the floor and his jacket where it was draped over a chair. “This is my home, don’t treat it like crap.”</p><p>“For fuck sake, Gerri, neurotic, really? I’m not the one too fucking nervous to go out in public with the man she <em>supposedly </em>loves –,”</p><p>“Oh, <em>supposedly</em>, okay.”</p><p>“–Because apparently it damaged her reputation last time. You know what, I should be the one who’s pissed off and throwing a tantrum. Especially as…” he drained his whisky in one, slid his glass across the coffee table which made her blood boil “…you’re the one who sat there and basically told everyone around that fucking table tonight that at some point I’ll get bored with you.”</p><p>“Well you will. At some point.”</p><p>“Sooner rather than later, if it’s gonna be like this.”</p><p>She threw his shoe at him.</p><p>“Fuck Gerri! Fucking lunatic.” He was stumbling to his feet now.</p><p>“You motherfucker…” She raised her other hand.</p><p>“Don’t you dare throw that other shoe; don’t you dare.” Both of his hands were in front of his face.</p><p>She threw the shoe.</p><p>It flew past his head and hit the wall.</p><p>“You’re fucking crazy. Am the one who should be angry, you think I’ll get bored of you, move on?”</p><p>“Yes, at some point, when you’re bored of the game.”</p><p>“That’s great isn’t, real trust there, thanks for evidencing that for my shitkicker family.”</p><p>“What do you want me to do, lie? Do I think one day some other pussy will have replaced mine? Yes, of course I do. I’m not fucking stupid.”</p><p>“That’s a real cold bitch thing to say.”</p><p>“And I thought you liked it that way. I defended myself at that table because I can’t rely on you to do it.”</p><p>He was thrown by her quick change of direction, “Hey that’s not fair, you’re strong enough to speak your own truth. Christ, I can’t do right.”</p><p>“No,” she threw his jacket to the coffee table. “Take your stuff and go, Roman.”</p><p>“Gerri, come on, stop shouting.”</p><p>“I want to shout!”</p><p>“Wrong person to be shouting at!” He shouted in return.</p><p>She almost screamed in frustration, slamming her hands against her sides instead.</p><p>“Hey,” he tentatively stepped towards her, “come on, let’s talk, okay, properly.” He wasn’t used to seeing her get so angry or lose control. “Don’t throw anymore shoes.” He held his hands up, “I’m in peace.”</p><p>“Roman…” she said frustrated and then she laughed, because it was all so ridiculous.</p><p>He smiled, tentatively stepping towards her, arms still half raised. “This is okay…?”</p><p>She was still laughing, covering her face with her hands, “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I just…”</p><p>“You’ve got a fucking arm on you, next time there’s a baseball match up, you’re on my team.”</p><p>“Oh, sod off.”</p><p>His hands were on her upper arms now, thumbs brushing in circles against the silk of her robe.</p><p>“You calm?”</p><p>“I never lose control.”</p><p>“Except with me…?” He shrugged, “I kinda like that if I’m honest. That I stir something in you.” He smiled, “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up enough, I didn’t realise that’s what you wanted.”</p><p>She pushed her hand through her hair, “I didn’t. I’m just being a bitch because tonight pissed me off.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, that’s fine, even someone as perfect as you can have those moments.”</p><p>“Don’t say that.”</p><p>“You know though, that I don’t want anybody else.”</p><p>“When I’m old and grey and dried up…”</p><p>He smirked at that, at her pout and the obvious frustration in her voice. He'd never seen her sulk, it was almost endearing.</p><p>He touched her arm, “Nobody. Ever. I thought I’d already made that quite clear.”</p><p>“He wound me up. It bothered me.”</p><p>“He picks at weaknesses, you know that.”</p><p>“I know better.”</p><p>“That was pretty hot though, the shoe throwing.” His hands were sliding down her arms, along her hands, resting on her waist.</p><p>“I guess, when pushed, even I can get passionate about things.” She moved her hands to his shoulders.</p><p>“If it’s about me, though, well, I like that.”</p><p>“I’ve never been that passionate about anybody else I can assure you. Christ, I feel embarrassed.”</p><p>He pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Don’t.” And then lifted her up, sat her back on the side-table. Brushed her nose with his until she kissed him, moaning as she sank into it.</p><p>“After all we said that night,” he whispered, “you know I only want you, your body. Your heart.”</p><p>She moved her lips over his, eyes half-closed, “You know you have it.”</p><p>“Do I?” He looked serious then, brushing her hair back from her face. “I got the distinct impression tonight you were having regrets.”</p><p>“I’m not having regrets. Life is just… things are moving quickly and I feel a little overwhelmed by it all. And then a friend made an off-hand comment when we had lunch the other day and it just…” she shrugged. “I let doubt creep in.”</p><p>“I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m fully committed, not playing games. Not going to walk away.” He kissed her again, “Tell me, and I’ll do it. Whatever you need. I do love you, Gerri, despite the fact you tried to take me out with my own shoe.”</p><p>She laughed again at that, her cheeks warming with shame</p><p>“I will not leave my shoes on the lounge floor again, Ms Kellman, I promise.” He said solemnly, smiling with her. “I know I’m immature, I get things wrong.”</p><p>“No, you’ve been wonderful.” She stroked her palm down his cheek.</p><p>“No, I keep getting things wrong. But in my defence you know I’ve never been here before, first love is some kind of brain twister.”</p><p>“That’s the thing, you see, I’m your first you’re… you’re my last love, Roman, do you understand what I mean by that?”</p><p>“That makes me sad, you think because I’m younger I’ll be off falling in love all over the place.” He laughed harshly. “Fuck Gerri, if that was the case would there be more than a handful of cases of failed relationships in my past? You’re it for life.”</p><p>“No, I won’t be.” She touched his face again, held it as she kissed him. “I won’t. The reality is…”</p><p>“I don’t want to do that.”</p><p>“But I do, listen, just seriously for one minute so I can try to explain, and you can try to understand and then we can pretend we’re on the same page as couples do.” She smiled warmly. “Someday I’ll be seventy, then maybe eighty, and I won’t look or feel the way I do now.”</p><p>“When you’re eighty, I’ll be sixty.”</p><p>“Yes, and therefore still more than capable of some fulfilling sexual relationship. You won’t want to take care of some doddery old woman.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t ever think that.”</p><p>“You can’t know, neither of us can.”</p><p>“Yeah because the future isn’t set in stone, so why are we even discussing it? I want to enjoy every single day with you as they come, not plan for a future that might not happen. Shit I could be taken out by a falling shoe before I reach fifty.”</p><p>She laughed loudly at that, her shoulders shaking with it, “Piss off.”</p><p>“Just keep laughing with me, yeah, keep enjoying things, keep taking me to bed and making me feel all these wondrous things you make me feel. And we’ll do that for as long as we can.”</p><p>“Oh goodness,” she slid her hands around his neck, “I’m almost embarrassed by how much I love you.”</p><p>He nodded, “Keep saying things like that too. Because I’m insecure and a failure and I get worried when you don’t return the affection.”</p><p>She breathed deeply, “There’s a ball coming up, Easter fundraiser thing, Baird was one of the key participants when it was first established. I still contribute, go every year.”</p><p>“U-huh.”</p><p>“I wanted to ask if you’d go with me.”</p><p>“You know I will.”</p><p>“It might be awkward, my friends, my circle. And they knew my husband well.” She bit on her lip.</p><p>“You braved my family and put up a pretty good fight I might add. I can cope with some grizzly old rich fucks. You got a good dress?”</p><p>She smiled, her face close to his, that wonderful rich depth of expensive cologne that he wore filling her senses. “A fabulous dress.”</p><p>“Then I’m definitely there, stuck by your side all night to keep away the old buzzards.”</p><p>“My own deflection technique,” she kissed him then, deeply, stroking his tongue with hers, holding him tight as his hands parted her thighs and moved between her legs.</p><p>She broke the kiss, “We can’t fuck on this table,” she suddenly said. “It’s an antique.”</p><p>“Oh well, you should have fucking well said.”</p><p>She rested her forehead against his as they laughed together.</p><p>*</p><p>Dessert at the family dinner had been a bit of a washout, so Roman had the idea of phoning out for some. And that was the great thing about New York, it could be two in the morning and some poor sap would still bike over with two slices of chocolate cake and coffee.</p><p>And so they lay in bed, her in this silk slip, him in nothing, eating cake. Or rather he was feeding it to her, leaning back against her headboard with her head resting on a pillow in his lap.</p><p>“Ah, don’t get it on the sheets,” she said as he lowered the fork to her mouth.</p><p>“My aim is off,” he laughed.</p><p>“Your aim is usually pretty good,” she teased, holding his hand too as he guided the cake to her mouth. “You know,” she said, licking her lips, “this is why I’m visiting Pierre more than ever. I told you not to let me have chocolate.”</p><p>“You like that little Gremlin fucker? Get him wet he starts reproducing… fuck, I just realised what an absolute sexual metaphor that is.”</p><p>“Oh god, that movie’s ruined for me now.”</p><p>“It’s a Christmas staple isn’t it?”</p><p>“Maybe for you.” She gestured until he fed her another piece of cake.</p><p>“So, you eat chocolate…what? You reproduce?”</p><p>“Ha, not anymore. Though I might grow, similar effect I guess on the whole ass/boob area.”</p><p>He chuckled at that, because she looked so relaxed now, laying across the bed, looking up at him, hair spread over his legs.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, just enjoying this.” He touched the side of her lip, wiping the chocolate fudge away, licking it off his finger.</p><p>“It’s easy isn’t it, when it’s just the two of us?” She said.</p><p>“Too fucking right, you know the rest of the world are basically massive cunts.”</p><p>“I had noticed,” she smiled. “That’s the hard bit, balancing who we are with what everybody else thinks we are. I mean, do you think they really think I’m such an evil twisted witch that I would use you to somehow oust your father, keep my name at the top of that replacement list?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Who knows. Conspiracy runs abound in the household, as you well know. But most of the time, well, within a day or so they’re onto the next victim. I figure we ride it out.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“You wanna tell me about this friend?” He spooned some of the cake into his mouth.</p><p>“Mmm…”</p><p>“What’s that mean?”</p><p>“It means I want you to like her, she’s a very old, very dear friend. We’ve shared a lot.”</p><p>“She disapproves of me.” He stated.</p><p>“Apparently, a few of my friends do. They all got together and had a nice little chat.”</p><p>“Well, that’s lovely isn’t it? Do they wanna attend the next Roy family dinner, have a free-for-all laying into what a waste of space Roman Roy is and why he doesn’t deserve Gerri?”</p><p>“But you do,” she twisted her hand round so she could rub his leg. “I’m sorry I’ve been off since we got home.”</p><p>“It’s alright. I understand. I know I’m dumb, but I’m not entirely dumb, like I can still work shit out.”</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t put yourself down.” She pushed herself up, sat with her legs curled beneath her and reached for her coffee. “I feel decadent eating dessert at this hour. Sunday seems a wash out already.”</p><p>“We can stay in bed late, lounge around, let me take you out someplace.”</p><p>“Someplace?”</p><p>“Yeah, like, what do people do? Walks in the park, fucking museums or something. Coffee.”</p><p>She smiled, “Let’s do all that.”</p><p>“What’s your friend’s name?”</p><p>“Laura.”</p><p>“And she disapproves because…?”</p><p>“Because you basically embarrassed me in front of people we know and spend time with by leaving me standing in a theatre on my own.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“Yeah. Kinda a bad place to start, really. And you have a reputation, apparently, which is laughable I’m afraid to say, no offence, but the idea of you as some playboy out there sticking your dick into anything that moves…” she shrugged.</p><p>“You know I’m more of a phone guy.”</p><p>That made her smile.</p><p>“A one-woman guy now.”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“But hey, you know, we’ve all got closets. You dug around in mine, didn’t find anything to stick, did you?”</p><p>“The research? No. Well, you denied it all so…” she took another sip of her coffee.</p><p>“Must be stuff in your closet, in fact, I know there are many secrets. And I have the shoe thing now, that’s like assault or something, isn’t it?”</p><p>She almost choked on her coffee. “Fuck, please forget about that. That’s mortifying. I’ve been in meetings with Hugo where’s he spewed the most ill-informed, ill-researched bullshit propaganda and kept my cool. I lose it over you! Christ, what have I become?”</p><p>He laughed at her, “I’m taking it as flattery. You know, this has given me some power actually.” He flexed his shoulders. “I feel mighty powerful over her passion for me.”</p><p>“You’re such an idiot,” she put her cup down, leaning over him, kissing him then moving her pillows so she could lay down.</p><p>He put the cake box aside, turned the lamp off snuggled down next to her.</p><p>“They all knew Baird,” she said as they lay in the darkness facing each other.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“And they all loved him.”</p><p>“If you married him he must’ve been a decent guy.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Are you saying they’re gonna be comparing the memory of this guy to me? Cos I’m gonna fucking lose, I can tell you that before we start.”</p><p>“Yes, I know.” She moved her hand out from beneath her cheek and slid it over his arm. “I don’t want it to be awkward for you, I don’t like making comparisons.”</p><p>“Do you, ever?”</p><p>“Course not.”</p><p>“You’ve dated other guys though, since his death, why am I more of a fucking target for your friends, a concern?”</p><p>“Because I didn’t love anyone else.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“So…?”</p><p>“They know you love me?” He whispered.</p><p>“I think they likely suspect.”</p><p>“You haven’t told anyone?”</p><p>“No. Have you?”</p><p>“I’d take out a full page spread in The Times if you’d let me.”</p><p>She laughed at that, “What would it say?”</p><p>“There’d be a massive picture of you for a start, and some pithy smart-ass comment, ‘This hot whip loves me now, so back off men of New York!”</p><p>She was smiling in the dark, “What about men outside of New York?”</p><p>“Christ, you venture further afield in the dating pool? Right, well, just ‘men’ then.”</p><p>“I like the masculine caveman flavour to it, very classy.”</p><p>“I aim to please.” He moved closer, inching his head across the pillow so his face was closer to hers. His fingers tiptoeing down her bare arm where it lay on top of the bedsheets.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Seducing you.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“That okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Carry on.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stole a comment from Lavender and used it here about first loves and last loves because i really liked it - thank you! xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two Halves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Y</em>
  <em>ou’re giving me life and it's everything</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thinking 'bout when we were seventeen</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Feeling myself like I'm Norma Jeane</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Here in my arms is where you should be</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>She’s working late, it is easier to do so when he’s away and in a different time-zone; he texts of course, calls at odd times of the day when he doesn’t think and she has to refuse his call because she’s in some meeting or other.</p><p>The distance is nice, not because she doesn’t want him near but because it reminds the both of them how much better life is when they’re together.</p><p>She makes herself a Martini, sits eating olives out of the jar as she taps away at her laptop; when her phone screen lights up she feels her heart lighten because she knows it’ll be him, and she wonders what ridiculousness he’ll be sending this time.</p><p><strong> <em>&gt;Make me a video.</em> </strong> </p><p>She blinks several times at it, readjusting her glasses before typing a response.</p><p><strong>&gt;Of what?</strong> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;You.</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong>&gt;Doing what?</strong> </p><p><strong> <em>&gt;Gerri, really? Sexy stuff.</em> </strong> </p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I’m literally sitting at my dining table working and watching the news in my pyjamas with a cold. This is a far cry from sexy.</strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>&gt;I’m in Tokyo without you…</em> </strong> </p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Ohhh, poor little wich boy!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;Come on, I can’t eat in our restaurants with Karl</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong>&gt;You could. Could be the start of something beautiful.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;Could be, you could be in danger of losing me. I mean, look what me wining and dining did to you – turned you into a regular fuck-a-thon.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Yes. You’re sooo right. Watch out Karl… </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;I’m horny</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;You’re always horny. Where are you?</strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>&gt;In a dark room watching some presentation video</em> </strong> </p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Stop being horny and pay attention</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;I want to pay attention to you</em> </strong>
</p><p>Despite the fact she should be annoyed with his lacklustre attitude, she is smiling, enjoying it. She leans back in her chair, lifting her Martini glass to her mouth. It isn’t like her to push these kinds of boundaries, legal ones – yes, business ones – yes. Sex… she knows she shouldn’t reply, shouldn’t encourage him.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Which bits would you pay attention to?</strong>
</p><p>She can almost hear his smile.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;There’s one particular bit my cock wants to pay attention to</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Christ if anyone ever stole your phone!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;And its usually very hot and very wet and eager to play</em> </strong>
</p><p>She is blushing at his words, leaning forward again, crossing her ankles, re-reading the text several times.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Don’t talk like that</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;You love it. Call you later?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;I’ll be asleep – it’s after nine here</strong>
</p><p>But there’s this tight pressure in her stomach that only he can alleviate.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Then you call me when you wake up. Believe me, I won’t mind</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;I’m going to bed soon, have a good day – concentrate! Xx</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;Sweet dreams xx</strong>
</p><p>She wonders if he realises how often she climaxed thinking of him; those early phone calls were confusing and disorientating and yet she continued to indulge him. Whenever he rang, late at night; whenever she saw his name on the screen, she could have ignored it. She didn’t. She answered. She played the game. And then it changed, slowly, subtly, flirtation creeping in, and the sound of his voice, the hitch of his breath, the groan of her name – she’d be lying in bed and it was there, filling her mind.</p><p>She surprised herself when she found that the thought of him masturbating to her voice made her touch herself. But then it’s easy to convince ourselves it wasn’t real in the dark in the middle of the night; it’s easy to wake in the morning and pretend it never happened.</p><p>These silk-like thoughts creeping in, unwelcome thoughts focussing in on the fact that she wanted him. Fooling herself that he wanted her. That tormented her for weeks – that he might want her; she indulged it, let it roll around inside her and fed off of it.</p><p>Then the snake like thoughts would slide around in the depth of night when she couldn’t sleep – make-believe that they could be together, and then torturing herself all over again that she was too old, too dull, too pedestrian, he could never want her. Why on earth would he with all he had?</p><p>It had been a revelation when he did.</p><p>*</p><p>In the morning she showers as usual, is sitting in her bedroom in just her underwear styling her hair when her phone rings. She smiles at his name.</p><p>“Well hello.”</p><p>“Good morning,” his voice sounds husky. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Getting ready for work, what are you doing?”</p><p>“Laying on my bed in my hotel room.”</p><p>“Quell surprise.”</p><p>“How’s your cold?”</p><p>“Easing.”</p><p>“You call that guy I said, for the shots?”</p><p>“I didn’t reach that point, no.” (There was no way she was calling ‘some guy’ to get ‘some shot’). “You going out for dinner?”</p><p>“Yeah, Karl and I have reached second base.”</p><p>“Fondling?”</p><p>“He likes to fondle; I like to let him.”</p><p>“Good god, that’s disgusting.” She’s applying her make-up, listening to him is a bit like having him in the room; he’d do the same if he were there – lay in her bed spouting rubbish and entertaining her as she got ready.</p><p>“You had your chance.”</p><p>“With you or Karl?”</p><p>“Baby, you want a threesome it can be arranged?”</p><p>“I don’t want a onesome with Karl, let alone a threesome. You never know where he’s previously been.”</p><p>He laughed at that, “What outfit you wearing?”</p><p>“Haven’t selected yet.”</p><p>“Wear the dark blue dress.”</p><p>“There are a lot of dark blue dresses in my wardrobe.”</p><p>“You know the one, it comes in at your waist and makes your butt stick out and from the side you have this fucking awesome silhouette that I just wanna grind myself against.”</p><p>“How do you get any work done, ever?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t.”</p><p>That makes her laugh.</p><p>“Do try today.”</p><p>He sighs heavily, “You do realise this is all bravado, don’t you, for the entertainment factor. I am actually –,”</p><p>“You don’t need to do that. I know. I’m copied into most of your emails, remember.”</p><p>“I’ll be back Friday; our air space is eye wateringly early. So, you wanna grab dinner?”</p><p>“Won’t you be tired?”</p><p>“I’ll take a pill or something, sleep on the plane. Come on… I miss you.” He adds, almost a whisper.</p><p>“I know. And yes, I’ll be here when you get back. Come over when you can.”</p><p>“You seen Dad?”</p><p>“A-ha,” she carries the phone into her dressing room, leaves it on the side as she searches for the ‘blue dress’.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And nothing, behaved perfectly normally. Have you spoken to him?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she can hear him turning over on the bed, the rustle of the pillow by his ear. “Only work stuff, asked if I was healing okay. Oddly.”</p><p>“I sorted that thing by the way, the family, the trust fund. It might accidentally leak to some gossip column.”</p><p>“Useful.”</p><p>“Yes. Oh, and I know what I forgot to mention.”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>“Hang on.”</p><p>“What’s that noise?”</p><p>“I’m just putting my dress on. Okay, so…”</p><p>“How long you got?”</p><p>“For?”</p><p>“You <em>know</em>…”</p><p>“Roman, it’s not that type of call. I was trying to say the pub, the Boot and Shoe.”</p><p>“Yeah…” His voice sounds different, breathier.</p><p>“There’s a story in the local paper about Roman Roy donating, full refurb, extending to incorporate hotel accommodation. You are of course invited to stay.”</p><p>“Fuck that.”</p><p>“Well yes, but maybe a ribbon cutting or something, when it’s done. I could get Karolina to set something up.”</p><p>Her voice would make him agree to anything. “Sure…”</p><p>“Stop it.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You know what, stop it. I’m putting you on a masturbation break until you come home.”</p><p>“Gerri…”</p><p>“You best be zipping up, I mean it.”</p><p>“You know they have that snake charmer thing, well you’re more like cock denier.”</p><p>She softens her voice, “Save it for me. It’s only a few days.”</p><p>There’s a pause as he gets up from the bed, huffing in complaint. “I suppose I best change, don’t wanna be late for my date with Karl.”</p><p>“You’re learning a lot though, over there?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah I am as it goes.”</p><p>“That’s good, this is a good sign – he’s training you, taking you seriously.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“I know he is. Have a lovely evening.”</p><p>“Have a great day.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Spose I best say buh-bye then.”</p><p>“Yes. Bye.” She picks her phone up, realises he hasn’t ended the call yet. “Oh, Roman…”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You aren’t sharing the cheesecake with Karl, are you?”</p><p>He laughed, “No, the cheesecake is just for you.”</p><p>*</p><p>When he returns from Tokyo, they fuck on her hall floor, both half-dressed, and its hot and rushed, with her legs wrapped around his waist and he’s pounding into her like he’s never touched her before. They lay breathless afterward, bodies curled together on the cool tiles, laughing over the fact he’d bought her a tacky Tokyo Tower plastic water bottle.</p><p>“Take it to the gym.”</p><p>“It’s like some phallic symbol.” She says holding it up.</p><p>“Mm, exactly,” he’s suckling on her ear lobe, hands looped over her tummy. “Let’s go out, let me take you out.”</p><p>“Sure.” She rolls over, faces him, “I’ll clean up and change. Where are we going?”</p><p>He’s nibbling on her chin, hands gripping her backside.</p><p>“Changed my mind.”</p><p>She smirks, taps his head with the water bottle, “I haven’t, take me to some up-and-coming place.”</p><p>“As if I’m cool,” he kisses her neck, laughs as he leans back and looks at her. “Karl quizzed me on you?”</p><p>Her eyes widen, “Oh? In what regard?”</p><p>“On the flight home, one too many Bourbons, I think. He must have heard me on the phone with you before take-off.”</p><p>“I told you to be discreet.”</p><p>“I was, I was in a different cabin, I didn’t know he was listening in.”</p><p>She plonked the bottle down above their heads on the floor, “I don’t even remember what we said.”</p><p>“I think you were pledging your undying love for me.”</p><p>“Yes, because that sounds <em>so </em>like me.”</p><p>He rolls her over then, pinning her hands above her head, grinding his hips into her. “I think it was about how desperate I was to see you.”</p><p>She smirks at that, sliding her hands under his shirt and over his back.</p><p>“That sounds more likely; what did he quiz you on?”</p><p>“Stuff.” He bends to kiss her again, feels his groin twitch and then her moan as she pushes him back.</p><p>“Later. Be a good boy. Let me go get ready and tell me about the ‘stuff’ whilst we’re at dinner.”</p><p>“Sexy bitch.”</p><p>“Don’t forget it.”</p><p>He lays with his hands folded beneath his head as he watches her get up, her hair hanging loose from the tight bun she wore it in, how she pushed her skirt back down, taking her panties off the one ankle they were still hanging on. It excites him still, seeing her like this. Undone and messy.</p><p>“Where’s my bra?” She glances around and he feels behind him, his fingers curling into the lace as he throws it back to her.</p><p>“You know what I really fancy doing?” He says.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s not your kind of thing.”</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>It fascinates him how quickly she can put on her bra. “A real dive arcade, have pizza, play some old games.”</p><p>She is frowning at him, lips pursed.</p><p>“Drink beer.” He adds.</p><p>“You’re right, this is not something I would usually do,” she clears her throat. “Nevertheless, you are willing to attend the ball, which will no doubt be tedious and dull for you, then I can watch you play arcade games for a couple of hours.”</p><p>“Watch? You’re playing.”</p><p>“I won’t know how.”</p><p>“I’ll teach you, besides its wiggle the joystick, shoot the aliens and I know very well you can handle a gun… and a joystick too, come to think of it.”</p><p>The arched eyebrow is reward enough.</p><p>“What the fuck can I wear for arcades…?” She is muttering as she disappears towards her bedroom.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Gerri cannot help but be concerned about a) the safety of the two of them going to some low-rent arcade bar and   b) the fact she’ll stick out like the proverbial sore thumb because of her age/accent/hair/dress/general demeanour.</p><p>They are dropped off a block away from a place Roman knows and walk the rest, her arm curled around his, blending in with every other New Yorker.</p><p>“You know the only arcade game I know is Pac-Man,” she says, gripping his arm as they cross the street.</p><p>“That is the gold-pussy-standard of arcade games. Rare to actually get on it, but if you want a go we could bribe someone.”</p><p>She’s nervous when they enter the bar, but as she surreptitiously glances around she notices that she doesn’t seem all that out of place after all – yes it is mostly men, but there are some women, and the age range is wide. Plus, the entire establishment is very dark, a few neon lights shining and the odd bulb hanging down over a booth; retro 80s music blasting out from somewhere. He told her there were live bands on occasionally and she wonders if one will turn up later.</p><p>He waves to the barman as they pass by on their way to a booth, and she realises he must’ve been here several times and is well known by some of the staff.</p><p>“Whatever the special is on pizza tonight we’ll get that,” he says, “and fries, they have the best fries.”</p><p>“Don’t let me have too many, I’ve got to get in that dress tomorrow.”</p><p>She slips off her jacket, takes the opportunity to glance around.</p><p>“Not too bad is it. You want beer?”</p><p>“God no.”</p><p>“I don’t think there’s gonna be a Martini,” he teases, already getting up.</p><p>“Where you heading?”</p><p>“Bar, to order, and you call me a snob! I’ll try for wine.”</p><p>She glances at her phone whilst he’s gone, replies to a couple of messages, then there’s an email with a seating attachment which she’s trying to figure out when he returns, putting a bottle of red wine and a glass in front of her.</p><p>“Not your usual quality but no doubt it will wash down the pizza. That work?”</p><p>“No, seating arrangements for the fundraiser.”</p><p>“If I’m not next to you then I’m not coming.”</p><p>She glances over her glasses at him, “You’re next to me, we’re on a table with two other couples – my friend Laura who I previously mentioned.”</p><p>“Who hates my guts, yes, go on. And?”</p><p>“My gynaecologist and his wife.” She pulls a pained expression.</p><p>It takes him a minute but then he throws his head back laughing, “Fuck me, he’s seen as much of you as I have.”</p><p>“In a very different context,” she slips her phone and glasses back into her bag. “I’ve known him for, Christ, over twenty years. I mean he was friends with Baird.”</p><p>“Every fucker was it seems! Odd job choice, don’t you think, like age eleven or whatever and the careers fair is on and it’s like what you wanna do Johnny? And he goes, <em>I’ve got a burning desire to study vaginas up close. </em>Don’t we all you little pervert.”</p><p>She is giggling along, amused as much by the story as the impressions he’s doing.</p><p>“<em>No, I mean, I want to do that as my job</em>… you’d think it would kinda take the pleasure out of it all, knowing what goes on up there. Like some guys I know have said they were there when their wives, you know, popped the kid out.”</p><p>“You know that’s just how I remember it too, straightforward and easy, just like popping something out.”</p><p>“Well, they say it put them off, like they couldn’t look at her and still wanna do her because of all the blood and gunge and shit. Disturbing.”</p><p>“You do realise this is the miracle of life. Some poor woman going through twelve hours of fucking agony as she’s torn in half and all the guy can think about is he doesn’t really want to stick his dick in there anymore.”</p><p>“That’s what you get, having babies.” He takes a drink of his beer, “You know, some guy’s job is to collect horse semen, like, he’s literally wanking off horses.”</p><p>She is pulling the most delightfully disgusted expression as she swallows her wine, “The fact you even know that is bad enough, the fact you felt like you had to tell me is even worse. And don’t be such a pig about it, honestly, the ignominy women face over fucking childbirth, you should be thankful Caroline did it.”</p><p>“Fuck me! Never ever raise the idea of my dad actually having had sex with my mother ever again, ever.”</p><p>“Don’t you cover this in therapy?” she teased.</p><p>“No!”</p><p>She slid a little closer along the leather seat, “You still going, it’s still going well?”</p><p>“Yeah, it is.” He tapped his beer mat on the table, “We talk about bed wetting and nightmares and my mummy issues – hence you.”</p><p>“Very funny.”</p><p>He leans in and kisses her cheek, “You picked a game yet?”</p><p>“I haven’t looked.”</p><p>“Pizza, then we’ll scope the room. You good at ping-pong, there’s a table set up in the other room?”</p><p>“Er, no.”</p><p>“Pool though, we could claim a few scalps.”</p><p>“Don’t take their money,” she said and he was surprised by the genuine tone to her comment, it makes him feel awkward, self-reflective.</p><p>Their food arrives and she sits back and watches as he takes a slice of pizza, turns it round and bites into the crust.</p><p>“Why did I know you’d eat the wrong way around?”</p><p>“There is no wrong with pizza.”</p><p>She sits for a moment, hands folded beneath her chin, watching him eat.</p><p>“What? What’s that face?”</p><p>“I’m having a conversation with myself.”</p><p>“About?”</p><p>“How the fuck did I end up here. A middle-aged, well-off woman spending a Friday night eating pizza and, apparently, about to play arcade games. I feel like I should be at the library or something, listening to some intellectual talk on existentialism.”</p><p>“You wanna go do that? Because we can leave.”</p><p>She smiled – how did he do that, find a way into her heart with the smallest, simplest of statements? “That’s the conversation I’m having, you see, I <em>should</em> be doing those things, and yet I don’t want to.”</p><p>“Have a slice of pizza, it’s good.”</p><p>“I thought you didn’t eat normo food,” she says as she picks up a slice, resting it on a napkin to soak up any grease.</p><p>“I don’t usually, but I like this place.”</p><p>She bit into the pizza, and he was right, it was good. “Who you usually come with?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Nobody. Come on my own, you know, sometimes you need to.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“The guys here never bother me, that’s what I like. Just get on with it. Chill space.”</p><p>“It’s good,” she said softly, “finding out things about you, things I didn’t expect.”</p><p>“What else you found out?”</p><p>“I can’t reveal, I have to keep some things up my sleeve.” She teased.</p><p>He laughed at that, “I’ve got dirt on you aplenty.”</p><p>“Oh really?”</p><p>He nodded, smirked. “That sound you make when you come…”</p><p>“Roman.” She blushed.</p><p>“How you like to fall asleep after an orgasm.”</p><p>“And yet somehow I’m awake and here…”</p><p>He smirked, “Promise of more to come later is keeping you awake, perhaps?”</p><p>“Perhaps.” She held his gaze, enjoyed how his eyes seemed to widen and focus in on her face. “Karl then?” She said.</p><p>“Christ, nosy bastard,” he took a handful of fries, then a mouthful of beer. “General shit, you know, how’s it going, shit like that. Then how long’s it gonna last, you sure you can handle Gerri –,”</p><p>“That’s a no!” She laughed. “And however long we want it to.” She licked the end of her finger. “He’s a pervy bastard anyway, honestly, the things I’ve had to get him out of.” She took another slice of pizza.</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>“You’re not known for your ability to keep a secret.”</p><p>“Don’t you arch your eyebrows at me. You taught me knowledge, secrets, means power.”</p><p>“And…” she was giggling as she leant forward to him, lifting her wine glass and taking a sip. “This is really awful stuff.”</p><p>“He’s filthy right, Karl, it’s not just that he plays away.”</p><p>“No comment.”</p><p>“Okay, okay… what if I just say a few things, and you can like blink or something.”</p><p>She chewed her lip.</p><p>“So, I think he probably likes to be tied up.”</p><p>She sipped her wine.</p><p>“Maybe humiliated, I mean, who doesn’t. But big stuff. Whips maybe, handcuffs, crawling on the floor like a dog. Licking whores’ shoes.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say he had a panic attack in Turkey?”</p><p>“Come on, let something slip, does he dress up, like to get pissed on? What?”</p><p>She smirked, moved to whisper by his ear, “All I can say is that he’s had a wide range of experiences with a wide range of women.”</p><p>“It’s all of the above, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Shh.” She took a handful of fries and started feeding them to him. “Be a good boy.”</p><p>They were both laughing as they finished their food and though she’d be hard pressed to admit it if asked later, she actually enjoyed her time there. For the most part she watched Roman try to impress her on various games, that was fine, it wasn’t her thing, but he’d been away for almost two weeks working non-stop, he needed to decompress. Occasionally she joined in, pretend she didn’t know what she was doing so he could hold her from behind and press his hands over hers to move the joystick.</p><p>“Bit like foreplay,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her neck, and she couldn’t help but feel singled out – he’d never taken any other woman there, he’d never wanted to share this with anyone else.</p><p>He slapped money down in competition when they got to Big Buck Hunter.</p><p>“How the fuck am I meant to maintain my dignity with something named ‘Buck’?”</p><p>“If you win, dignity maintained,” he said picking up one of the rifles.</p><p>“You know you could fly anywhere at any point and do this for real.” She said, picking up the other rifle.</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s frowned upon these days, rich assholes shooting animals for pleasure. You gotta think of our reputation, Gerri,” he teased.</p><p>“Fuck off, I should’ve been thinking of my reputation when I agreed to come here.”</p><p>“Lock and load bitch!”</p><p>*</p><p>The prize for her overwhelming win was that they could leave and head to a cocktail bar. They sat on high stools at the bar, it was noisy and busy and her legs were trapped between his as they sat so close together.</p><p>“Here you go then,” he said as the bar tender slid their drinks across. “A toast to your win, fucking bad ass bitch.”</p><p>“Oh my god, it’s like my greatest achievement, do I get a certificate? Can I give a speech?”</p><p>“I’d love a speech, go on.”</p><p>“Okay, so first I’d like to thank my boss for choosing inappropriate destinations for morale boosting trips where I’ve had to pretend to enjoy hanging around in the dirt and shooting; secondly, my father for being an avid hunter; God, of course. And oh yes, my wonderful boyfriend….” She ran her hand over his leg, “For not being at all jealous or upset over the fact I kicked his tiny ass.” She was smiling over the top of her cocktail glass.</p><p>“Some fucking speech.” He laughed, “So, <em>wonderful boyfriend</em> then, despite the shitty gift?”</p><p>“I rather like it, I think it could become our thing, giving tacky gifts.”</p><p>“You started it, the get well I heart London coffee cup.”</p><p>“I know, I know,” she nodded. “So, tacky cheap gifts then?”</p><p>“What if I still want to get fucking decent gifts every now and then, shower you in diamonds?”</p><p>She shrugged, “It would be rather rude of me to turn down such a gift, don’t you think?”</p><p>“D’you know how fucking amazing you are?”</p><p>“Mm, am I?” She pressed her lips around the straw in her glass, maintained eye contact as she drank.</p><p>He mirrored her move, sliding his hand along her leg, then between her knees until she clamped them together.</p><p>“Careful,” she mouthed.</p><p>He leant forward, one hand still trapped between her knees, the other sliding along the bar beside them. “I was thinking,” he whispered; and she leant forward slightly, dropped her head down so she could hear him better as he spoke by her ear. “I might just slide my fingers into your panties, smell you.” She felt her cheeks warm.</p><p>“Not here,” she whispered in return.</p><p>“Ah, that gives me hope,” he turned his head, met her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily, half hid by her hair as it fell over her face.</p><p>When he pulled back she was smiling at him, that smile where her lips seemed to curve in a slightly amused but entirely pleasurable way.</p><p>“Gerri?” A voice came from the side of them. “I thought that was you.”</p><p>She sat up quickly, brain struggling to catch up, to match the voice to a name.</p><p>“Oh, hi,” she said, focussing on the man’s face, lifting her hand from Roman’s leg to shake his hand when he held it out. “It’s Daniel, by the way.” His voice slurred.</p><p>“Yes, I know, sorry,” she lied, “I’ve had one too many cocktails.” She tried to smile, was keenly aware of Roman’s smirk as he watched the scene play out. “Sorry, Daniel, this is Roman…”</p><p>“Shit, yeah, Roman Roy,” he shook his hand. “Wow.”</p><p>“That’s usually the response I get to be honest.” Roman said and Gerri rolled her eyes at him.</p><p>“So, you two are… okay,” Daniel breathed deeply.</p><p>She suddenly realised Roman’s hand was still between her knees and parted them quickly, pushing his hand away.</p><p>“It’s hard to believe isn’t it,” Roman said, “that she would consent to be my girlfriend – though we don’t use that term as a rule.”  He could sense there was tension there, but he thrived on that, enjoyed pushing it. He rested his hand on Gerri’s on top of the bar. “You two know each other then?”</p><p>“Well yeah,” Daniel downed his whisky. “We had sex once.”</p><p>“Oh Christ,” Gerri sighed.</p><p>“Then she ignored my calls for a week.”</p><p>Roman shifted on his stool, feet dropping to the floor. “Oh okay, so that’s not really how you speak to a lady, man.”</p><p>“Yeah, this is no classy lady, despite appearances. Maybe she just lets anybody fuck her, though, case in point perhaps.”</p><p>“I’m going to break your fucking nose!” Roman snapped, getting to his feet.</p><p>“Roman,” she held his arm.</p><p>“Is this some corporate kink thing, the two of you?”</p><p>“I swear,” he was squaring up to the older man.</p><p>“Please, Roman, just let him go. It’s nothing, it means nothing, okay,” she placated him, a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry you feel I led you on in some way, Daniel, I thought we were both adults and sex can just be sex. Clearly, I was wrong. But talk to me like that again, ever, and I’ll take you down. Do you understand? Now, be a good boy and scuttle off to where you came from.”</p><p>She felt Roman press up behind her as they watched him back off, smirking, and disappear into the crowd.</p><p>“You should have let me hit him.”</p><p>“That would only damage you, not him.” She breathed deeply, “I think I’d like to go home now,” she said, then turned to face him, “take me back to your place.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>*</p><p>It amuses him when she comes into his bedroom wearing one of his t-shirts, in all the time she’s stayed over neither one of them had ever thought for her to have nightwear there.</p><p>“Sexy huh?” She says as she walks around the bed and gets in beside him.</p><p>“Is this like the first time we’ve ever actually got into bed next to each as opposed to falling into bed, or just fucking on the bed?”</p><p>“You got into mine a few times, post-sex in another location.”</p><p>“This is like some progression thing, moving forward on the relationship track.”</p><p>“Maybe. Wait until I sit putting face cream on beside you, then we’ve crossed a line.”</p><p>“Like the asshole in the bar, he crossed a fucking line.”</p><p>“I could have gone the rest of the night without you bringing that up.” She pushed the pillows up behind her back, “I’m sorry, it was kinda embarrassing.”</p><p>“Yeah, on you, not him. Fuck if some woman had sex with you and doesn’t call its cos your dick aint worth shit, don’t embarrass yourself over it.”</p><p>“He was drunk, he’ll likely regret it tomorrow.” She said fairly but was chuckling anyhow over his comment.</p><p>He turned onto his side to look at her, “Doesn’t know who he’s messing with. You’d strip his balls.”</p><p>“Hmm, usually I might. I didn’t feel in the mood for it tonight, I guess…” She pushed her hand through her hair, knees bent, one arm holding onto them as she looked over to where he lounged. “I guess I felt sorry for him.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Believe me, I usually wouldn’t give a shit. Maybe it’s on me, the way I acted with him, I was hurting over you and I slept with him as some sort of experiment.”</p><p>“You were <em>what</em>, over me?”</p><p>“Hurting. Over. You.”</p><p>“Ah, I thought that’s what you said.”</p><p>She smiled at his smug expression, “Let’s focus on something else, like my big buck win.”</p><p>He laughed, “Thanks for going tonight, I know it’s not your thing.”</p><p>“You know, it was fun, I enjoyed myself.” She sighed, “I was having a great time until that awkward moment.”</p><p>“Stop apologising. You know I don’t judge, it’s the best bit of our relationship, feeling like equals, not putting the other down in some way.”</p><p>“Our what, sorry,<em> relationship</em>. How grown up are you?”</p><p>“I’m almost acting my age.”</p><p>“Almost." She said softly.</p><p>"Been a while since you’ve stayed over,” he said, tracing his fingers up her arm. “Thought you’d gone off this place, or me.”</p><p>“Yes, because my actions earlier this afternoon suggested I’d gone off you.”</p><p>“Reckless actions on the hall floor.”</p><p>Her lips curled into a smile, “I like your pillows,” she said, “you changed them.”</p><p>“You told me to, complained about them.”</p><p>“In like what, November?”</p><p>He shrugged, “I didn’t forget.”</p><p>“There’s a real heart in there, isn’t there?” She said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead.</p><p>“I think you’ve got it, actually,” he said softly. His hand was reaching around her and she let her legs drop, lowered her body, rested over him, let her mouth meet his.</p><p>For a long time they stayed like that, in the dim light of his bedroom full of the smell of him and the sound of him. It was like some sort of powerful gift of sight to know without doubt that she’d love him for the rest of her life, no matter what he did, or she did, or even if they were together or not, she’d still love him. He was so deeply embedded in her heart, her soul, that she knew she’d never get him out.</p><p>She shifted slightly, the move indicating her intention to straddle him.</p><p>“Hang on, wait,” he said, moving back so he was sitting, leaning back against a pile of pillows. “Okay, bring it on.”</p><p>She laughed as she watched him, “I thought I was the one to give instructions.”</p><p>“Instruct away.”</p><p>She knelt over him, legs either side of his body, leant forward to kiss him, then back again as she lifted the t-shirt up and over her body, dropping it to the floor.</p><p>“That didn’t last long,” he said, hands trailing up either side of her body, over her hips, ticking her waist.</p><p>“Want me to put it back on?”</p><p>“God no,” his hands moved flat over her stomach, up under her breasts as he rested a palm beneath each one.</p><p>“This is what I’d like, a picture of this view for when I’m away.” He said.</p><p>“I think not.”</p><p>“Just a shot on my phone.”</p><p>“Christ no, nothing is sacred. You’ll have to keep the image in here,” she tapped the side of his head.</p><p>“I do. There’s an entire filing cabinet of Gerri images now.”</p><p>She laughed at that, “You’re such a little shit. Better than me being a filing cabinet I guess.”</p><p>“Hmm,” he kissed her fingers as she trailed them over his face.</p><p>She rested her hand on his cheek. “Funny thing, attraction.”</p><p>“Er, not quite sure how I’m meant to respond to that. I mean, you’re sitting on my hard cock, my attraction is plain to see.”</p><p>She rested her forehead against his as she giggled, her shoulders shaking. “I was actually…” she can hardly talk for laughing, and that makes him laugh too, his hands on her back.</p><p>“What? You were what? You trying to say you’re not attracted to me. Is that it, you picked this moment to break it to me?”</p><p>“Stop it,” she laughed, “I can’t do this now.”</p><p>“What, fuck? Course you can, come on, I’ll remind you how it works…” he held her shoulders, pushed her back slightly. “So, Gerri, what happens is that bit goes in there…”</p><p>“Oh god, stop!” Her breath was coming in gasps as the laughter continued; but he laughed with her, holding her body, pressing kisses to her breasts.</p><p>“Maybe I can get you started up again,” he said, blowing air over her nipples.</p><p>“Ah, I was going to…” her head fell back, breasts pushing forward to him. “…I was going to say how a few years ago it would never have occurred to me to find you attractive.”</p><p>“Funny, you were always some fox to me.”</p><p>She raked her nails through his hair, “I don’t mean it in a… ahhh, oh god… in a bad way.” She pressed her hands into his shoulders making him stop. “I think I fell for your charms,” she said, “you always boast about them.”</p><p>“They’ll be on full force tomorrow believe me. Now, stop talking.”</p><p>She smiled, leaning forward, kissing him deeply, shuddering as his hand slid between their bodies and touched her.</p><p>She groaned, a heavenly sound to him, “Oh god, I love you,” she exclaimed, her chin resting on his head.</p><p>“Thank Christ,” he laughed in return, “was beginning to think I might have to crash a car again to hear the words.”</p><p>She is giggling into his hair, then kissing his forehead and over his face, holding his chin. “Insolent little shit.”</p><p>“And that’s one of the reasons I love you too, you’re fierce.”</p><p>“Mmm,” but she is kissing him again, because he looks so good and she feels so close to him; her hips rolling into his, bodies so in tune now it takes so very little for it to work.</p><p>She arches backwards, enjoys the sound he makes when she does it, the way his mouth moves over her neck. Her hips pushing upward as their bodies join.</p><p>“Holy shit, you’re…” he breathes against her chest, stills for a moment inside her, enjoying the sensation, being wrapped in silk.</p><p>“I’m…?”</p><p>He looks at her then, the way her hair falls forward and frames her face.</p><p>“Beautiful. Just that.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Roman would have liked to spend the day in bed with her, cuddling and laughing and making love. But she was out of bed by nine, saying she had to go to the venue and run through a final check of things.</p><p>“Part of being on the committee,” she’d said as she’d pulled last night’s dress over her head. “Not that I do very much these days. Just turn up. Give them money.”</p><p>She leant over the bed, kissing him, “Starts at 7:30.”</p><p>“I’ll pick you up at 7:00 then.”</p><p>“Yes. Go back to sleep, you were travelling most of yesterday.”</p><p>And she’s gone.</p><p>He spends the day lounging around his apartment, watches a movie, plays a few games. Sleeps in the afternoon. It takes him very little time to shower and dress come early evening, despite it being a black-tie event. And then he's in his car and being driven to her apartment and when she said she had a fabulous dress, she really meant she had a fabulous dress.</p><p>He can’t recall seeing her in that shade of blue before, and she’s like some diamante covered vision when he lets himself into her apartment. That’s still a revelation too, that she buzzes him in now without any kind of greeting, and he opens the door knowing it’ll be unlocked for him. It feels like the equivalent of handing over her key and there’s an element of trust in that which excites him – though he ignores that, because getting excited over a key is something sad bastards would do.</p><p>“I’m suited, booted and looking hotter than James Bond out for the kill,” he calls out to her, sliding along the white tiles in her hallway. There’s a large vase overflowing with white orchids and lilies and he smiles at that, taking one of the flowers out. “Nice flowers,” he calls again.</p><p>“Aren’t they?” She calls in return from her dressing room, “my boyfriend sent them.”</p><p>“Sounds like a decent fucker.” He’s stalking around her lounge now, peering out of the high windows to the street below.</p><p>And then she’s there, seemingly floating towards him in this astonishing blue silk gown that rustles along the floor.</p><p>“Holy fuck.”</p><p>“Is that good?”</p><p>“You can’t possibly look that good.”</p><p>She mock curtsies, “Why thank you. Not wallpaper tonight, see.”</p><p>“Never fucking wallpaper, I was a dick for saying that. I like the hair, very Marilyn-like.”</p><p>“Thank you, surprised you didn’t pass the stylist on your way up.”</p><p>“I might have.”</p><p>“You going to kiss me then?” Her hands are running up his arms. “I have deliberately left the lipstick off.”</p><p>“Horny bitch.” He presses his mouth to hers, savouring the moment; he’s still at the point where he counts their days apart, today he’s counted the hours.</p><p>“That was a nice starter,” she smiles, she’s feeling flirtatious and sexy and if it wasn’t for the fact the dress is so heavy she’d be tempted to accost him before they leave. “You’re looking very handsome. I like this,” she says, fiddling with the bow tie.</p><p>“Well, there are points to prove,” he says, one hand resting very lightly on her waist, the other stroking her cheek with the flower he’s still holding. “You know, your outfit is missing something.”</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>“Diamonds.”</p><p>She touches the choker at her throat, “I’m wearing them.”</p><p>“Maybe something for here…” his hand touches her wrist.</p><p>“Roman.” There’s a half amused, half warning tone to her voice.</p><p>“It’s only a very small, almost tiny, gift. To make up for the trash gift.”</p><p>And she can’t help but smile because, despite whatever the gift is (<em>it’ll be beautiful; everything he buys her is beautiful</em>) it’s more the fact he wants to buy her things. And hell, if some man wants to deck her in diamonds she’s far past denying him the privilege.</p><p>“So…” she says, and there’s a youthful impatience to her voice.</p><p>“Hold your hand out, Ms Kellman.”</p><p>“Like a child,” but she does as he asks, stretching on her toes, swaying playfully – he brings out this delicious energy in her.</p><p>He places the box in her hand and she smiles gloriously as she opens it and finds the diamond bracelet inside.</p><p>“Acceptable?”</p><p>“Very much so,” she lifted it out of the box, “you do have exquisite taste.”</p><p>“Well, the jeweller does.”</p><p>“Don’t ruin the illusion,” she smiles, handing it to him to fasten on her wrist.</p><p>“Besides, this gives me clout, if things look like they’re going south tonight I’m gonna turn their attention to this little trinket.”</p><p>“Show off,” she says, but then kisses him again. “Thank you, it’s very beautiful.”</p><p>“You,” he holds her at arm’s length again, “you are stunning, did I say that? That’s exquisite taste right there, see, dating you.”</p><p>“Well, this I know. So, are we ready to go, how you feeling?”</p><p>“Not been this nervous since the first time I attempted to have sex. So, pretty decent, yeah.”</p><p>“Fuck me, I feel that’s an entire story you need to tell me at some point.” She lifted her skirt, “Okay, so, let’s go. It’s not raining out, is it, I’ve got a shawl for my arms but –,”</p><p>“No, it’s not raining. Is there food, I’m starving.”</p><p>“We sit down to dinner at 8:30, then it’s the thing, the auction,” she collected her bag from the side, let him help put the shawl around her shoulders. “It’s all very precise timings, if they go off I fear Shauna will lose her shit.”</p><p>“Fair enough. Let’s do our best to knock the timings off then.”</p><p>*</p><p>“So, give me the details in the next thirty seconds,” he says as they’re heading inside the venue.</p><p>“In what regard?”</p><p>“This, what’s it for?”</p><p>“You ask me that now, as we go in?” She let him hold her arm as the climbed the staircase inside. “So, Baird established it.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Years ago, I told you that.”</p><p>“You told me he supported it.”</p><p>“Same thing.”</p><p>“It is in no way the same thing, like Christ, your dead sainted husband set up a charity thing and now your new, younger, despicable lover is attending with you.”</p><p>She paused by the door, turning to face him. “Right, so one, don’t refer to him as sainted.”</p><p>“It seems that’s what everyone thinks.”</p><p>She fussed with his bow-tie, “No, it isn’t. Two, you’re not despicable. A bit of a fucking spoilt brat sometimes but we all have our faults. Don’t sulk. Be charming.”</p><p>“Don’t leave me with any boring fuckers.”</p><p>“We’ll be stuck together all night then,” she said as she pushed the door open.</p><p>He rested his hand on her lower back as she led the way to their table, somehow it felt like maintaining physical contact gave him a pass to be there. Otherwise he felt like an interloper.</p><p>“They’re all in white shirts.”</p><p>“So? There’s hardly anyone here yet.”</p><p>“I wore a black shirt.”</p><p>“Again, so?”</p><p>“So, talk about black sheep.”</p><p>“Ah, this is our table,” she placed her bag on a seat, and draped her shawl over the back to claim it.</p><p>“Gerri.”</p><p>“You look fine,” she held his arms, stood close to him. “Now, stop whining, because that isn’t attractive and I don’t have time for it. Okay.”</p><p>“Yes, bitch.”</p><p>“Glad we understand each other. Now, shall we sweep our way around? Prepare to be the Roman Roy they all love to hate.”</p><p>“A loud gregarious bastard?”</p><p>“Perhaps a mix of him and the man I love, hmm.”</p><p>“Okay, but should I go with ‘what’s up motherfuckers?’ as my opening line?”</p><p>“Maybe not, not the first time, warm them up first.” She rested her hand over his very briefly, then took hold if it, tucking it in hers as some kind of signal to anyone watching.</p><p>It was a typical set up, nothing he hadn’t seen before at many corporate functions, various tables placed about, space for dancing, a stage. He followed close to her, nodded and smiled when people said hello, but it was clear she was searching for a certain individual and when a woman in her mid-fifties raised a hand from across the room he realised this must be Laura.</p><p>Oddly, he felt his chest tighten, unlike him to be nervous, usually only Logan caused such a response.</p><p>“Good lord darling, you look stunning.” Laura said as she and Gerri embraced. “Fabulous dress. And look at all the fucking jewels,” she touched the bracelet on her wrist.</p><p>“Well, this was a very recent gift.” She turned slightly to touch Roman’s arm. “Laura, this is Roman.”</p><p>“I recognise you of course, but I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” She shook his hand. “The famous Roman Roy.”</p><p>He dug one hand in his pocket, “Infamous is probably more like it,” he shrugged. “Very nice to meet you, and er, you look lovely.”</p><p>“Thank you very much. Nothing compared to Gerri, of course.”</p><p>“Well she is stunning; did I say that already?”</p><p>Gerri nodded, “You did, that’s three times I think. But it’s the kind of repetition I can cope with. Where’s Charlie?” She asked as she slid her arm through Roman’s, standing so close her hip pressed into his side.</p><p>“He was chasing the band I believe, we wanted music as people arrived and they’re late. He’ll be giving himself heart failure, no doubt, which would make me a very rich widow. In your league, almost.”</p><p>“Fuck off, that’s an awful thing to say,” Gerri laughed, and Roman immediately began to form an impression of this woman. She was eyeing him up and down, a strange twisted smile on her face.</p><p>“So, Mr Roy, you’re the one who hurt my dear friend.”</p><p>“Christ Laura, don’t start with that.”</p><p>“It’s fine, kinda expected it, rather be hit head-on than fucking games to be fair.” He pressed his hand over his heart, “I sincerely apologise to you personally for the pain I caused your friend.”</p><p>“Hmm, well, I might forgive you yet. It depends how well you’re treating her now.”</p><p>“You’re embarrassing me, Laura. Where’s the champagne?”</p><p>“A drink sounds real good,” Roman said, his collar suddenly feeling very tight.</p><p>Laura beckoned over a waiter, “Are you though, treating her well?” Her eyes held that flash of defiance, and he liked that, he recognised the same quality in himself.</p><p>“Well, one good thing about it all is we’ve had a hell of a lot of make-up sex.”</p><p>Gerri coughed on her champagne, “Oh Christ, this was how I hoped the evening would start…” she said but Laura was laughing.</p><p>“I like him, and if he’s buying you diamonds, I like him even more.”</p><p>“I told you that was a well-timed gift,” Roman knocked back half a glass of champagne in one go. “So, there’s no photographers tonight, red carpet shit?”</p><p>“There will be for the guests, we were early.” Gerri explained.</p><p>“Thought it was a bit morgue like at present.”</p><p>“Oh, I get the feeling you could wake the dead, Mr Roy.” Laura teased. She looked away as her husband beckoned to her. “I’m needed, but don’t go anywhere, I have a lot of questions for you.”</p><p>“I’m prepared.”</p><p>Gerri turned to face him, “So?”</p><p>“She’s a fucking handful, I thought you were tough to handle.”</p><p>“I am,” she sipped her champagne, moved in close to his body as the band started up. “Dance with me whilst people are still arriving, before I have to go off and be polite and act like I care other people are here.”</p><p>He finished his drink, put the glass on a table. “I will. But only because of that dress and how you fucking look in it.”</p><p>She smiled, leaning in close to whisper by his ear, “You know what, later, I had plans for you taking me out of it.”</p><p>“I’m into that,” he nodded, and then she took his hand and they weaved through the empty tables and to the empty dancefloor.</p><p>“Hang on,” he said, as the band were warming up, and he jogged over to them, said something to the singer before coming back to her. “Gotta get your song in first.”</p><p>“The bloody tramp one?” She was smiling as he took her hand and spun her round as the band spluttered into the opening bars.</p><p>Across the room Laura and her husband watched as they danced, out there on their own on the dancefloor, Roman spinning her around as she laughed.</p><p>“She looks happy,” Charlie said to his wife.</p><p>“Unquestionably so. And younger, somehow.”</p><p>“That’s what love does for you I guess.” He kissed his wife’s head.</p><p>“Or good sex.”</p><p>*</p><p>When the first course was being served Gerri was still wandering around the tables exchanging pleasantries. Showing her face, reminding them of her involvement, was a good way to get them to dig deep into their pockets when the auction started.</p><p>“So, Roman, right?” An older lady asked as she sat beside him. She had sleekly bobbed grey hair and must have been in her late sixties, and yet somehow, she looked much older than Gerri.</p><p>He held his hand across, “Very nice to meet you…”</p><p>“Martha. This is my husband, Ted.”</p><p>Roman stretched over to shake his hand too, “Nice to meet you too.” And then it dawned on him, “Your Gerri’s… doctor, right?”</p><p>“I am, well, one of, have been for a long time.”</p><p>He almost cracked a joke about it, remembering laughing only the night before with Gerri about choosing to study a woman’s inner workings; but he bit his tongue, this was a very different evening.</p><p>“We were friends with her and Baird,” Martha said, “used to sail sometimes, at the weekend.”</p><p>“Ah, she mentioned once or twice about the sailing. In fact, we went out, last year when we were away, she captained the ship, so to speak.” He slid his hand around his whisky glass.</p><p>“She used to be very good.” Ted said.</p><p>“Well, I mean, Baird taught her all the ins and outs, he’d done it since he was a kid, right?” Martha said.</p><p>Roman leant back in his seat as their starters were placed in front of them.</p><p>“They used to take the girls, have you met them yet, Blair and Maisie?”</p><p>“Not yet, no.”</p><p>“Ah,” Martha nods, “well, they’re both lovely of course.”</p><p>“Blair is like her mother,” Ted pointed out and Roman felt a bit like he was being tested.</p><p>“Who is? What are we talking about?” Laura asked as she and Charlie took the final two seats.</p><p>“Blair being like her mother.” Ted said.</p><p>“Oh god yes, looks like her, talks like her, stubborn as her.” Laura laughed. “Too similar for their own good.”</p><p>“She’s what, twenty-eight now?” Martha asked.</p><p>“Yeah, and still single. Career minded, wonder who she gets that from?” Laura spread her napkin in her lap. “Where’s Gerri got to; we should eat.”</p><p>“Didn’t your son date her once?” Martha said.</p><p>“Well, he tried to, I think he was firmly rebuffed.”</p><p>They all laughed and Roman glanced around the room, scanning for Gerri – he really didn’t feel comfortable being on Family bloody Fortunes.</p><p>“We were just telling Roman we all used to sail together, remember those glorious weekends away. She never comes anymore. Always working. Getting her out for a coffee is a mini victory,” Martha laughed.</p><p>“Maybe we should start, she won’t mind.” Laura said.</p><p>Roman slipped his phone out of his pocket and typed: <em>Get the hell over here!</em> They might have been at some swanky event, and she might have been playing hostess, but one thing he could rely on is that her phone would always be in her hand.</p><p>“Do you sail, Roman?”</p><p>He took another drink of his whisky, “Unfortunately no. But I enjoy certain aspects of it.” He said, remembering jumping naked from that boat with Gerri, making love on the deck in the afternoon sunshine.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gerri said, pressing her hand to his shoulder as she took her seat; she left her hand there for a second or two, rubbed the back of his neck with her thumb. “My apologies everyone, please start.”</p><p>“You drumming up business?” Laura teased.</p><p>“Attempting to.”</p><p>“Gerri is our secret weapon,” Martha explained.</p><p>“How so?” Roman asked.</p><p>“Well, first she has the gift of persuasion. Or, as we call it, subtle bullying.”</p><p>“And if that fails,” Ted added, “she uses her charms, promises the odd date, it’s worked for years.”</p><p>“Thank you all for the wonderful impression you’re painting of me,” she picked up her cutlery, “clearly I have not been promising dates tonight.”</p><p>“It’s quite obvious you’re spoken for,” Charlie pointed out.</p><p>“Don’t look at me,” Roman joked, “I was just hired to keep all the ninety-year old men from pouncing on her.”</p><p>“It’s the dress,” she smiled. “Oh, and did you all see the gorgeous gift I received to go with the outfit?” She held her hand out, the diamonds sparkling in the lights; it wasn’t a move she’d usually make, but Roman seemed like he needed a bit of a helping hand.</p><p>“Made her happy,” he said, finishing his whisky – he needed to slow down, otherwise he’d be slurring by dessert.</p><p>“That’s what it’s all about, Roman, keeping them happy.” Charlie said. “I think we need to find out more about you.”</p><p>“Ah, well, not much to learn beyond what you see.” He shrugged.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Gerri said softly. “Roman only got back from Tokyo yesterday.”</p><p>“Goodness, I’m impressed you’re still awake,” Martha said.</p><p>“That’s youth for you,” Ted said, “Oh, I mean –.”</p><p>“Fuck Ted,” Gerri laughed, “talk about foot in mouth.”</p><p>“I do feel a bit like a kid sitting with the adults,” Roman said.</p><p>“What have they quizzed you on?” She put her fork down, wiping her mouth on her napkin and placing her hand on his wrist. “I can tell you no he doesn’t sail. Did they ask you that?”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>“You’re all so predictable.” She leant in closer to him, “Hm, he doesn’t do Hampton weekends, neither.”</p><p>“Is this like a club or something?” Roman asked.</p><p>“A bit like that yes. Or a cult.”</p><p>“What does he do,” Charlie asked. “What do you do, Roman, besides the company of course, you’re COO now right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he reached for his wine glass. “I um,” he searched his brain. “What the fuck do I do?”</p><p>“He likes pool,” Gerri teased, looking sideways at him, that delicious naughty smile on her face. “Don’t you?”</p><p>“She’s teaching me how to play.”</p><p>“If I recall you’re rather good, aren’t you, Gerri? I remember Baird saying that on a very early date you pretty much crippled him.” Ted laughed.</p><p>“I did yes, god, that was a very early date.” She took her hand from Roman, sipped her wine.</p><p>“Did you ever meet him, Roman, know him?”</p><p>“Well I mean, yeah, obviously, but I was just…”</p><p>“He was only a child, there, we can get the embarrassing stuff all out in one go.” Gerri said, and there was an air of awkwardness then as they considered what to say next.</p><p>“He always seemed a decent guy,” Roman said, hopefully. “But well, he worked with my father, that’s all I knew.”</p><p>“Logan’s not here tonight?” Charlie asked.</p><p>“No, Marcia is though.”</p><p>“She is?” Roman said, “I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“They’re always invited,” Gerri said. “She brought Amir as her guest.”</p><p>“I better go say hello.”</p><p>“We can go together, after dinner,” she said.</p><p>“How is your father, after… well, everything?”</p><p>“Erm yeah, he’s er doing good. You know my Dad, always a fighter.”</p><p>There was a lull in conversation as the waiters appeared to clear their plates and Gerri leant closer to him, whispering by his ear, “You doing okay?”</p><p>He turned his head so nobody could see his mouth and whispered in return, “Like being up in front of a jury.”</p><p>“Did I read you were held at gunpoint last year, Roman?” Charlie asked and he turned his attention to him. “Some terrorist thing or other over in Turkey?”</p><p>“Well, not quite like that no. It was more a government thing we got caught up in.”</p><p>“But you were held at gunpoint?” Martha asked.</p><p>“Not personally,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, felt Gerri’s eyes on him. “We were rounded up, held in a room together. But yeah there were men with guns. Pretty fucking scary, as it goes.” He turned his wine glass around on the table.</p><p>“Stuff of nightmares,” Ted added. “You’re lucky you got out. The stories we hear nowadays about what’s going on around the world, makes you not want to leave New York.”</p><p>“He’s so old fashioned,” Laura laughed. “I love to travel, expensive hotels, all that culture.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say earlier you two went away?” Martha asked.</p><p>“Ah yeah, erm, was it late November?” Roman saw Gerri nod, “Yeah we flew out, erm, had a couple of weeks.”</p><p>“Was the resort good?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, pretty nice.” He was unsure why he felt nervous about discussing it, why it bothered him that people might want to know specific details, as if he would be able to condense everything he felt and experienced with her there into some pithy statement.</p><p>“It was absolute luxury,” he heard Gerri say. “He even managed to get me on a jet ski, though I drew the line at all the thrill-seeker things he did, wave boarding or something. I have no idea. Made me film him.”</p><p>“That was pretty cool,” he said.</p><p>“You should show us the video.” Laura said.</p><p>“I will, I’ll find it.”</p><p>“It’s a bit shaky” Gerri pointed out, “because it was me on the back of a speedboat filming him doing this amazing stuff.”</p><p>“Best time of my life,” he said without thinking, and then he looked at her and smiled, a shared moment on that table where he felt like he was being interrogated.</p><p>“Email me the hotel details, will you, Gerri.” Laura asked. “I’d love to go. Get some sunshine.”</p><p>“Well, Roman organised it all, actually.”</p><p>“I can send them over, not a problem. I can do it now actually,” he got his phone out, flipped through a few things and then said, “you want it emailed?” and Laura gave him her address. “There. Done. If you book then mention I recommended it to you, they owe us a favour.”</p><p>“Oh?” Laura said.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Gerri said, sipping her wine, “some staff member took a photo of the two of us and tried to sell it on.”</p><p>“Shit, I forget it’s a bit like dating a celebrity now.”</p><p>“Hardly,” Roman tried to laugh it off.</p><p>“I have to admit, when Laura told me who Gerri was dating I did google you, find out what you’re worth,” Charlie said.</p><p>“Oh right, yeah. Really?” It wasn’t like him to feel uncomfortable in groups, he was good at all this stuff, playing the entertainer. Somehow it mattered more, that they liked him, and besides that meeting them was like finding out another layer to her, who she spent her free time with, labour day weekends and hobbies and her backstory. He wasn’t quite sure where he fit into it all yet.</p><p>“You could bid on every lot here tonight,” the older man said, laughing, and it occurred to Roman he was likely already drunk. “I mean, you could buy, I don’t know, one of the Kardashians or something.”</p><p>Gerri’s eyes widened, “Well, he has me instead.” She pointed out, half joking, half annoyed by the comment.</p><p>“I do prefer blondes,” Roman said, trying to keep things light.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Christ, Ger, you know I’m only teasing.” Charlie joked.</p><p>“Oh, I know. Sensitive topic perhaps.”</p><p>“I was once paired with Paris Hilton,” Roman laughed, “in some gossip magazine. That was a fucking joke, as if.”</p><p>“She is a blonde though,” Laura pointed out and they all chuckled.</p><p>“Well, then I’ll revise my statement, she’s got to be smart too, and Gerri is by far the smartest person I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she turned her head to him. “I fully agree with that statement.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he leant in and gave her a kiss, fuck them all watching. “I know, or I understand there was some concern about… about her giving me another chance…” he fixed his eyes on Laura. “But I can honestly tell you I’m a one-woman man.”</p><p>“That’s the sweetest thing,” Martha gushed.</p><p>"It's true." He looked at Gerri, "you've got to bow down to her, goddess that she is."</p><p>“For fucks sake, this is sickly,” Gerri said, “let’s talk about something else now, leave the new boy alone.” She instructed, but as the main course was served she slid her hand over his leg and gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze – he was doing okay.</p><p>*</p><p>“How many things do you want me to bid on?” he whispered by her ear after dinner, they were facing the stage now, the auction getting under way.</p><p>She turned in her chair to face him, so close she was leaning against his arm, “You don’t have to bid on anything.”</p><p>“Want to make a good impression,” he stroked her arm, down to her wrist. “Can I bid on being alone with you?”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” she leant her head forward and kissed him. “Maybe bid, and then gift whatever the item was to somebody or just make a donation or something without bidding.”</p><p>“PR,” he nodded, “you’re the fucking Queen of it, forget Karolina. There’s nothing you want?”</p><p>“Nothing in the auction,” she smiled seductively, then kissed him again, forgetting where she was for a moment, who she was.</p><p>“Did you enjoy the food, Roman?” Martha asked and he turned his head, looking over his shoulder at her.</p><p>When did he slip into a world where he responded politely to this kind of inane conversation? “Oh yeah, great. Quite different from last night.”</p><p>“Oh?” Laura said, tuning in to the chatter.</p><p>“He took me to some arcade.” Gerri explained, her hand instinctively coming to rest on his hand on the table as she turned back to face the group.</p><p>“It’s just a place I like,” he explained.</p><p>“Did you feel like you were seventeen again, Gerri?” Ted laughed and Roman felt the tips of his ears redden.</p><p>“Not exactly, I had very few boys wanting to take me anywhere at seventeen.”</p><p>“I bet she was always studying.” Martha said.</p><p>“I was quite the bookworm,” she agreed, her fingers tracing patterns over the back of Roman’s hand – it was important, that touch, to feel like she was there with him no matter what was said. “It was a lot of fun, actually, we had pizza, then he took me for cocktails.”</p><p>“God, I remember that feeling,” Laura said, “when you’re first dating and you get to go out places together and it’s new and exciting.”</p><p>Gerri smiled, nodded, turned her attention back to the stage when the bidding started.</p><p>“Just heading to the restroom,” Roman whispered by her ear and then he disappeared between the tables.</p><p>In a second Laura had moved into his seat, and was leaning into Gerri, a hand on her arm.</p><p>“Going well?” She said.</p><p>“Well, I think so, you lot appear to be playing judges tonight though, so I guess that’s up to you.”</p><p>“We’ve been pretty easy on him, I think. Could’ve asked him about those stories to do with snorting cocaine off some very young hooker’s ass.”</p><p>“Such polite dinner conversation,” Gerri reached behind her for her wine glass. “And you know they’re gossip columns.”</p><p>“Yes, and you and I both know every gossip column has a seed of truth. Never asked you to do it, has he?”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>Laura laughed, “You’re happy, I can see that. We can all see that. I don’t recall you touching Baird as often as you’ve touched Roman tonight.”</p><p>“Maybe I’ve grown softer with age.”</p><p>“Maybe. Maybe the sexual connection is hotter.”</p><p>“Like you and Charlie, you mean?” Gerri asked pointedly.</p><p>“You know we still can’t keep our hands off each other, perfectly natural.”</p><p>“It always surprised me you only ended up having one child.” Gerri said.</p><p>“You and I both know neither of us was cut out for motherhood. You going to introduce him to the girls?”</p><p>“A-ha, at some point.”</p><p>“They won’t recognise you.”</p><p>Gerri jerked her head round, defensive, “What do you mean?”</p><p>“You’re all… shining, sparkly. And I don’t mean the jewellery.”</p><p>She shook her head, “Stop chatting, we’re meant to be pay attention to this.”</p><p>“I’ve told Charlie to bid on lot 14, I want those sapphire earrings.”</p><p>They both turned their attention back to proceedings when a round of applause broke out to mark the conclusion of another lot.</p><p>“And a very big thank you,” the announcer said, “to Mr Roman Roy who has made a very generous donation to tonight’s cause. We’re very grateful for your attendance, Mr Roy.”</p><p>“Well, well,” Laura said as they clapped, “what a good little boy.”</p><p>“Don’t be a bitch,” Gerri said through her smile.</p><p>“I’m good at it.”</p><p>*</p><p>“That was very kind,” Marcia said as Roman approached her at the bar, kissing her cheek. “Very good sport.”</p><p>“Well, I’m here to make an impression.” He ordered a whisky and a Martini for Gerri.</p><p>“This is nice of you though, Roman, to attend. We both know this is not your kind of thing. You take after your father in that regard.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t leave her dateless,” he said, and then realised how silly he sounded saying it, because Gerri had attended hundreds of these types of events over the years, always dateless, always independent. “She wanted me to come,” he added. “Good of you to, you know, turn up.”</p><p>“Amir was in town,” she shrugged, “I wanted to get out.”</p><p>“You and Dad are…” he stopped himself, “Christ, sorry, crossing a fucking line there. Not my business.”</p><p>“It’s fine. We’re fine,” she smiled. “You know, you’re growing up, took a while for it to happen.”</p><p>“Don’t spread it around, got my reputation to think of.” He took a sip of his drink. “Maybe I just got tired of being the family joke.”</p><p>Marcia nodded, “I’ve known Gerri a long time.”</p><p>“Are you gonna give me some warning shot here?”</p><p>“No, of course not. I was going to say you look good together, don’t fuck it up.”</p><p>He laughed at that, “Yeah, doing my best.”</p><p>“Quite. Hence being here.”</p><p>“Is it obvious it’s not my scene?”</p><p>“You’re playing the role well, debonair businessman who’s generous with his money.” She reached for her handbag where it sat on the bar. “Have a lovely evening, Roman.”</p><p>“And you.”</p><p>*</p><p>When the dancing started, and the tables emptied, she took his hand, crept through the milling groups of rich socialites, and led him out through a back door to a patio area.</p><p>“Lordy, lordy,” he exclaimed when they got outside, grateful for the fresh air, the noise of the city around them.</p><p>“Is it too painful?” She asked, closing the door behind them.</p><p>He dragged his hand through his hair, “Like some fucking test.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine, I mean, shit can’t be as bad as my family but wow,” he shook his head. “Wow.”</p><p>She twisted her mouth as she watched him stalk about the outdoor area, like watching a caged animal be set free. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself.</p><p>“You don’t have to come next year.” She said.</p><p>“No, I mean, it’s fine, I’ll come. Hopefully they’ll take it easy, but shit, all this Baird stuff. Like everyone I’ve spoken to tonight felt the need to bring your husband up.”</p><p>“I’m sorry about that too. I guess they aren’t used to seeing me with someone long term.”</p><p>He turned to her then, stopped his pacing. “I’m long term?”</p><p>“I sincerely hope so.”</p><p>“You’re cold,” he stated, slipping his jacket off, placing it over her shoulders. She lifted her face to his, and for a few moments they simply kissed, holding each other.</p><p>“It’s not all that bad, is it?”</p><p>He breathed deeply, “No, I mean, they seem nice, decent people. But that’s just it, isn’t it. I mean, we never really mix with plain old decent people. It all seems so far removed from who we are and what we do.” He said. “All that fake fuckery about who does what and who knows who and who weekends where.”</p><p>She nodded, “I know.”</p><p>“But that’s you, this is your world? I mean, outside of the company?”</p><p>“To some extent, and I mean, a tiny <em>tiny </em>amount.” She shook her head, “You know, I mean you do realise that I’m more myself when I’m with you than at any other point. This is just… I mean, Laura is a good friend, loyal, but the others,” she shrugged, “they were friends of a lifestyle type, when I was married and had young children and they did too and we spent time with them. That’s it. It’s not like I speak to them regularly or meet them regularly. It’s like a lifestyle I used to be part of.”</p><p>“I just find it hard to reconcile the time we spend together, the things we talk about, all the sex and fun and laughter with these people. I can’t imagine any one of those people fucking on the hall floor like we did.”</p><p>“I’d rather not imagine.” She pressed her hand to his face. “Listen, all the love making we do, all those times alone together, they are the real moments, none of this.” She breathed deeply. “Don’t you understand, that’s why I love you, because you’re not any part of this world. You’re brutal and abrupt, sometimes too much so, but I like that. I like that you don’t play these games or try to run with a certain crowd. You’re like some vibrant star in a very grey world.”</p><p>“You’re the one shining like a fucking diamond tonight.”</p><p>“I want to go home and let you undress me, do all the things to me that make me feel alive.”</p><p>“You should have put that up for auction; I’d have bid millions.”</p><p>She pressed her body into his, “Ah, but you can have it for free.”</p><p>“Lucky me.” He kissed her again, one hand on her backside, the other around her back. “Do you realise how fucking beautiful you look tonight?” He stated.</p><p>“You make me feel like that,” she said softly, eyes half closed. Evenings like this made her feel like she was in some confessional, like she would tell him anything or go anywhere with him.</p><p>“It’s like a game of two very different halves,” he said, hands rubbing up and down her back, “last night, and then, tonight. Kinda like the two separate lives we live.”</p><p>“Mm, I rather like to think they’ve meshed together though now, meeting in the middle.”</p><p>“Ooh I like that, <em>meshing together</em>, sounds dirty.”</p><p>“Let’s escape,” she said, lifting her mouth to kiss his chin, down his neck. “Go home.”</p><p>“Are you suggesting dirty things to me, Ms Kellman, because apparently I’m a respectable businessman.”</p><p>“In a fucking alternate universe,” she teased, laughing with him.</p><p>“I’d fuck you here,” he said, gripping her body.</p><p>“That I’m aware of, and the potentially scary thing is I’m tempted to let you.” And that does still scare her, that she’s so far along this path she feels she might be tempted into anything he suggested.</p><p>“Reputation?” He sighed.</p><p>“More like damaging my dress.” She kissed him again, “Take me home.”</p><p>“We can sneak out?”</p><p>“I thought a Roy could do anything?”</p><p>“I could helicopter us out of here, if you so wish.</p><p>She giggled, pulling out of his embrace, “I think we just take the car. Don’t you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had missed them! x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong></strong><em>‘All these people think love's for show<br/></em> <em>But I would die for you in secret<br/></em> <em>The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me’</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>present</em> </strong>
</p><p>It was only a suggestion. One she made over brunch one Sunday when she was reading the papers and he was simply watching the world go by. Late Spring, and you could sit outdoors and be content.</p><p>“We don’t have to do it.” She said, turning the page, trying to concentrate on the article but he was leaning across the table, breaking off a piece of her croissant.</p><p>She looked at him then, over the top of her glasses, which she knew he always enjoyed, “Unless you’re out with friends for it, which is fine.”</p><p>“Hardly. You think they’d come?”</p><p>“Your friends?”</p><p>“The family.”</p><p>“Yes, I do. We could rent a house, somewhere by the lake.”</p><p>“Or borrow one of Dad’s.”</p><p>“Or that. If you like.” She watches him turning over his phone on the table, considering the options. She knows this about him now, the time he takes to think things through, he never used to before, he’d rush in with some off-hand remark or half-planned response and then feel like a fool. “Might be nice,” she adds softly, leading him gently, “to choose somewhere yourself. Independently.”</p><p>He taps his hand upon the back of his phone considering it, then nodding, humming.</p><p>“I can hire caterers. We could go horse riding. Too dull?”</p><p>“No,” he finished his coffee.</p><p>She drip-feeds him information, sometimes it’s easier that way, she prefers to think of it as being kind and considerate, not manipulation.</p><p>“I already looked into a place, actually, water sports on offer,” she says and that makes him look up. “I thought maybe that would be something you’d enjoy.”</p><p>“It would.” He seems to really pay attention then, slipping his sunglasses off to look at her, because it’s so unusual for somebody he knows to have taken the time or care to really think about his birthday, let alone someone willing to organise anything which involves his family. It makes him feel faintly uncomfortable, not in the way that he feels she’s interfering, but that he’s simply not worthy of such care. “You know that’s real considerate.”</p><p>“It didn’t take long to do,” she shrugs.</p><p>“Christ, I’ll be forty next year.”</p><p>“Don’t even start with that,” she said, “are you going to order more coffee or what?”</p><p>He nods, starting to push his chair back, the metal scraping along the tiled floor. “This art thing you wanna wander round –,”</p><p>“You don’t have to come; I can go on my own.”</p><p>“I was going to say – before you jump to conclusions – what time?”</p><p>“Apologies,” she folded her paper. “We’ll go after this. You’ll invite Kendall?”</p><p>He shrugged, “I could.”</p><p>“Do, you’ll want him there, he might bring Rava, and the children. You know, I’ve never really seen you in uncle mode.”</p><p>“I’m too much of a cunt to be an uncle. And besides, I haven’t seen you in mother mode, so you know. What’s the phrase? Pots and kettles.”</p><p>That makes her smile, sitting there in the mid-morning sunshine with him, feeling so at ease and comfortable. “Well,” She folded her hands on the table, looking down at them rather than at him.</p><p>“Well? No excuse?”</p><p>“I told you I needed time.”</p><p>“Yeah, apparently so. But you know it’s been about a year about since we first hooked up.”</p><p>“<em>Hooked up</em>?” She shook her head, looking out over the street, scanning those that were out walking dogs, buying Sunday papers. “Your way with language.”</p><p>“You worried I’ll embarrass you, that it?”</p><p>“Of course not.” She breathed deeply, “I’m worried they will.” She looked at him again, biting down on her lip, she thought he might ask more but whatever was on his mind he kept to himself. “I’ll have an espresso,” she said instead.</p><p>“Alright.” He got up, coming around the table. “And yes, I think it’s a nice idea for my birthday, sounds very grown up.”</p><p>She tilted her head back as he rested one hand on the back of her chair, looked up at him, “You get to play host.”</p><p>“I’m ordering a smoking jacket and getting a pipe. Be prepared to fetch my slippers, bitch.” He kissed her then, in full view of the other customers, and it never even raised an eyebrow.</p><p>Funny how they’d settled into this now, almost as if it had always been that way. And now they were back on track, somehow it was working. Roman had expected that his cruel little heart would get bored – it hadn’t. In fact, the more he was with her, the more he still wanted, and the more his oft-ignored heart seemed to grow. He recalled as a child loving the character of the Grinch, that malevolent evil smile, the tiny heart that needed nobody; perhaps he’d modelled himself on that for far too long. A childish fascination with independence and isolation, it had served him well when there was nobody to care, out at boarding school, surrounded by strictness and the cold gloom of a reality where money was more important than your own child. He’d stopped once, about age thirteen, to ask himself whether his parents actually loved him – it was a foolish thing to do and he’d banished the conclusions behind a wall of wealth and privilege.</p><p>But she loved him. She really seemed to love him. He wondered if she realised what power that had over him, that simply being in her presence these days was enough to make things possible. Hurdles he used to think insurmountable so would put off, make a joke over or pretend he didn’t care, he was starting to climb.</p><p>And now, Sunday mornings walking from her apartment to a coffee house she liked, passing the time as she read the papers, going to some art exhibition because she was interested in it. And every single time she gave him a get out of jail free card and he never took it – because it was another moment with her, another hour, another day and he wanted to absorb it all.</p><p>He turned to watch her as he waited to order, standing in line, blending in; he figured that now wherever she went he’d follow, if she chose to leave the business tomorrow and move elsewhere, he’d follow. The thought made him feel a bit sick. Caring for someone to that extent had never factored in on any of his life choices, not that he often made well-informed ones, and it still unnerved him at times, still scared him. There was always this option with others, to just walk away when it got too hard. That option was gone now.</p><p>To think she’d spent the time thinking of a way to spend his birthday, that she’d researched things she thought he might like… he can’t even recall his mother putting that much thought into his childhood birthday parties; if he was ever home it was Nanny who did it, not Mama.</p><p>Gerri was smart, practical, icy when needed, level-headed and sharp and cutting and cold. She could out manoeuvre most men in the boardroom, if not the city. But she was warm to him, caring, supportive, and he still wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it. But Christ he intended to nurture it.</p><p>When he got back to their table a man had stopped on the sidewalk and was chatting to her. He was with another man who had the tiniest dog Roman had ever seen at the end of a pink lead and Gerri was bent forward fussing it as he sat down.</p><p>“Oh Roman,” she looked up, this glorious smile on her face. “This is Pierre, my trainer.”</p><p>The man seemed to come to life, “Christ alive, this is him in the flesh!” He held out a manicured hand and Roman shook it. “You’re looking good,” his eyes switched to Gerri, “he’s looking buff. Who works with you?”</p><p>“Er, I’m between trainers at the moment, actually.”</p><p>“Don’t!” Gerri instructed. “He isn’t coming to you, you’ll gossip and he’ll reveal things he’s not meant to.”</p><p>“You don’t trust me darling?” Pierre exclaimed, mock-shocked and Roman laughed, because to picture Gerri choosing to work out with someone this exuberant was wonderful. Pierre looked him over again and made a humming sound in the back of his throat, “I can see why you’ve chosen this path.” He said.</p><p>“And this is why I tell you very little,” Gerri said, bending to pat the dog again. “James, how do you cope?”</p><p>The other man had been silent throughout the exchange, clearly used to playing second-fiddle. “I do drink a lot.”</p><p>Gerri laughed at that, putting her napkin on the table and getting to her feet to kiss both of them goodbye.</p><p>“And very nice to meet you, Roman, thank you for putting a spring back in this girl’s heels.”</p><p>“Well yeah, my life’s work is complete.” He shook Pierre’s hand again.</p><p>“Great skin too. Very soft. But just you behave yourself with her.”</p><p>“Piss off now,” Gerri said, waving them off.</p><p>Their coffees were brought to the table and Roman watched as she opened the paper again, lifting her cup to her mouth as she read.</p><p>“He’s a character.”</p><p>“I know, that’s what I like, he entertains me and it takes my mind off of working out.”</p><p>“You tell all your acquaintances I screwed you over?”</p><p>She looked at him sharply then, “No.” She said softly. “I believe it was in the gossip columns. I tell Pierre as little as possible, he could probably write a gossip column.”</p><p>He nodded, “Reoccurring theme,” he said, sitting back in his chair, sliding his sunglasses on.</p><p>“Not from me.” She said, softly but firmly, then returned her attention to the paper.</p><p>“I think you’re right, about the weekend. Invite my family, have a couple of days at a lake house or wherever. I can do something more scandalous the weekend before or something.”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>“Some club. Hire a few hookers. Embarrass Tom.”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“Would you mind, if I played around, birthday treat and all that?”</p><p>“Yes, I’d fucking mind,” her voice was calm, she turned the page of her newspaper. “You dip that thing anywhere else and I shut up shop. You know this. We went through the rules.”</p><p>He laughed at her nonchalant tone, the fact she didn’t even look at him as she spoke.</p><p>“Good job I don’t want anybody else then, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Very much so.”</p><p>By Monday afternoon she’d emailed him, ‘Lake house options’, and there were four properties to choose from. Christ she was organised. He picked one. Emailed her back and she booked it the same day.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>past</em> </strong>
</p><p>As a child Gerri had always hated the way adults would argue in front of children; she can remember her own parents regularly doing it, and the kids would be stood around at the fair or something waiting for them to stop or for one to stomp off and she and her siblings would remain with the one left behind. Even if you were too young to understand the meaning behind the argument, the source of the tension, you were still emotionally aware enough to pick up on bad feelings and sharp tones; it still made your stomach tighten and your skin prickle, even if you were only six.</p><p>So, she had made it a rule that if she ever had children she would never argue in front of them.</p><p>She had two now, Blair was ten, Maisie five. And Baird had been begging for weeks to get away for a weekend; she’d resisted, she couldn’t spare a Friday or be late back and tired for Monday. But it was holiday, a long weekend, and she couldn’t say no anymore. She hadn’t been involved in the planning, there had come a time when a subtle shift had crept in – Baird was sixteen years older than her, and he seemed to be slowing down; she was forty-one, and her career had just kicked into high-gear.</p><p>She must have slept in the car, because despite their wealth he had insisted on driving, no nannies, no staff, just them for three days. The thought of having to cook had made her want to crawl into a hole, and then Baird insisting he could Barbeque and the smell of that on their clothes… She wasn’t at all that type of woman, she thought he would know that by now. But the girls had been noisy in the back seat and she’d snapped twice and felt bad for starting the weekend that way; so she’d closed her eyes, let the rhythm of the journey lull her.</p><p>“No, wait for mom,” was the first thing she heard; and then his hand on her arm shaking her awake. “Gerri, we’re here.”</p><p>She could smell the sea. Salt air. The sound of birds.</p><p>“Girls, wait here a second. Stay in the car.”</p><p>Baird had come around to her door, let her out, and she’d blinked in the sunshine, sliding her sunglasses on, sandals pressing down against the sandy gravel drive.</p><p>“This looks nice,” she said, looking toward the property. She spun round, there was a path down to the beach, and she liked that, she knew the girls would like that and that brought a shred of happiness to her. Despite how difficult she often found it, she wanted them to be happy, to feel safe and wanted. They’d spend the weekend playing in the sand and she could lie there and read. That would be fine.</p><p>“Just nice?” He prompted.</p><p>“It’s a good choice, a nice weekend retreat.” She touched his arm, the soft hairs there, the bronze of his skin.</p><p>“I bought it.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The house. For us. I bought it. So we can get away more on weekends, bring the girls, get them out of the city. Breathe some fresh air. We can get a boat here, Gerri, somewhere for us to retire to. Don’t make that face.”</p><p>“What face?”</p><p>“That look of disappointment.”</p><p>“I’m forty-one Baird, retirement isn’t top of my list.”</p><p>“No, but it’s getting closer on mine, and besides we don’t need to work.” He slid his hands around her waist, his chin on her shoulder as he directed her attention back to the property. “We’ve got more than enough money, Gerri, we can live comfortably for the rest of our lives. It might not be excessive millions, not in Logan’s ball-park or even near, but more than enough.”</p><p>She huffed, stared at the house; it wasn’t grand, a tidy, modest beach house by the standards of most of their friends. But it was pretty, quaint.</p><p>“You always do this, make decisions without consulting me.”</p><p>“I wanted it to be a surprise, a good one.”</p><p>In the car the children are screaming excitedly at each other, fussing to be set free.</p><p>“I think buying a property is more than just a fucking surprise birthday party.”</p><p>“Language – the girls.”</p><p>She closed her eyes; she was still groggy from the car.</p><p>“It’s a nice surprise, Gerri, a good thing, for us, as a family.” He kissed her head.</p><p>The car door opened, “Mom, can we get out now? Maisie needs to pee.”</p><p>“I’m desperate, mommy!” The little girl pleaded.</p><p>She pulled out of Baird’s arm, “Yes, come on, go in, find your rooms.”</p><p>They bounced out, raced up the path.</p><p>“I’ll get the bags,” Baird said, dangling the key in front of her.</p><p>*</p><p>The house reeked of the sea, as if it were in the fabric of the walls. She’d spent a couple of hours wandering from room to room taking it all in, pretending she was cleaning out the refrigerator when Baird took the over-excited girls down to the beach – she would join them soon, just getting things ready.</p><p>She unpacked all of their cases, hung the girls’ beautiful clothes in their wardrobes, set their favourite dolls out on their beds. They would share, that was good, because Maisie often had nightmares and maybe she’d climb into bed with her sister rather than come in search of her parents.</p><p>From their room she could see the beach and she stood for a long time with Blair’s pyjamas in her hands, rubbing the fabric through her fingers as she watched them play. Running back and forth to the shore, chasing each other, chasing their father. The three of them looked happy and she envied that; she wasn’t unhappy exactly, she was content, and she loved them all dearly. But sometimes it just felt like something was missing, like there was piece that hadn’t slotted into place. She should want to be with them, she should be standing there eager to join them in their games, but the reality was, she wasn’t. That was hard to admit. She would rather be working.</p><p>Blair was getting older, her body was changing, her mind was growing. She asked questions now Gerri didn’t know how to answer. She observed and stored all of the things Gerri did, mimicked her sometimes, like a robot marching about. Only she never found it cute or endearing, she found it intrusive, as if this little person was 99% her, as if Blair knew her, as if she knew she was only pretending to be a mom because she actually didn’t know how to do it.</p><p>She would start boarding in the fall, that too had been an argument, Baird not ready for her to grow up, Gerri insisting she needed to be independent. For her part Blair had wanted to go, loved the school, wanted to be with her friends so it had worked out for the best. But how odd for Maisie, to be left behind with an aging father and a cold distant mother. She felt sorry for her, would try harder to be kinder, more motherly.</p><p>She set their nightwear out on the bed, changed, headed down to the beach as the wind shifted direction and her hair was blowing in her face.</p><p>“Mommy!” Maisie cried as she walked along the sand.</p><p>She was off-kilter as the little girl ran toward her, jumped in her arms; she swayed backwards, steadied herself as Maisie’s legs wrapped around her waist. She could remember having her inside her, the weight of her, carrying around that little person who would wriggle and kick.</p><p>“Mommy, I made a seaweed picture.”</p><p>“Oh, how wonderful,” she said, walking towards the others, carrying her daughter.</p><p>“Your hair is the same colour as mine,” Maisie said, holding her braid against Gerri’s hair as it blew around her face.</p><p>“A-ha, we match.”</p><p>“I like that.” She giggled, putting her arms around Gerri’s neck. "We match."</p><p>“Yes, me too.” She kissed her cheek, “Hop down then, show me what you’ve done.”</p><p>And that was what she found hard, showing an interest, because she didn’t at all care for their seaweed strewn across the sand, or when they made up stories about unicorns and fairies; she had no interest in watching childish films with them and pretending to enjoy silly school plays. She did it. She smiled and clapped. But it wasn’t her, any of it, and the older they got, and the older she got, the more she not only realised that, she accepted it.</p><p>She was a terrible person. She accepted that too.</p><p>Later she reads to them, Maisie is asleep by the end of the third page, but she’s sitting in the chair by Blair’s bed for almost an hour. She isn’t sure why, usually twenty minutes and she turns the lamp off, but she carries on reading and Blair carries on listening, even when her eyes are heavy and flutter closed.</p><p>“Mom,” she says as Gerri marks the page in the book and reaches to turn the lamp off.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“It’s super dark in here.”</p><p>She gets up, opens the curtains, lets in the moonlight.</p><p>“Nothing to be scared of, we’re right next door.” She leant over her then, touched her hair, remembered being her age and having that mass of blonde curls unwilling to be tamed. “You’re growing up.” She says.</p><p>Blair looks up at her then, as if surprised.</p><p>“When you’re away at school the dorms might be dark. Perhaps we should get you a nightlight or something, something you can keep under your duvet if you need it.”</p><p>Blair nodded.</p><p>“You do want to go, don’t you?”</p><p>“Course.”</p><p>“Alright, good.” She bent, kissed her forehead. “Goodnight then.”</p><p>She placed the book on the chair, tiptoed around their beds to avoid waking Maisie.</p><p>“Mommy,” Blair’s voice, only tiny, small, young; she hadn’t called her that in years.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I’ll miss you.”</p><p>Her heart ached. “Yes. I’ll miss you too.”</p><p>She closed the bedroom door.</p><p>*</p><p>Baird cooks and they eat with the doors open and the sound of waves crashing to shore. She is grateful for him, he takes care of her, has always done so. When she was new and nervous and trying her best not to appear so, he was kind to her. Of course she knew she was pretty, and that helped, had always helped, when she needed to get her foot in the door.</p><p>But it was more than that. They shared a similar work ethic, and he taught her so much and she learned so quickly and when he’d kissed her that time – the first time – in his office late at night, she’d returned it, eager to have him all to herself. He was everything other boyfriends hadn’t been, protective and powerful and clever, she sucked it all up, every second, everything to learn.</p><p>Marriage had been obvious. Besides she had wanted to be married to him, loved him deeply, wanted to spend her life just like that, loving him and learning from him and enjoying all the wonderful things that their privileged lifestyle brought.</p><p>But time goes on. There are children and priorities shift and change. And he was getting older, that changed him too, what he wanted in life no longer seemed entirely compatible with what she did. She feared she was a bad wife too, wasn’t sure how to do it all; she could play the role, host the dinner parties, style the house, be on his arm. It was the other stuff she struggled with, the emotional support, the consistency.</p><p>When she goes into their bedroom, already changed into her nightwear and rubbing cream into her hands as she shuts the door with her bottom, she knows he’ll want to have sex. Because it’s a weekend away and he’s lying in bed propped up on the pillows waiting for her, not reading, not on his phone. Just waiting.</p><p>“I meant to tell you,” she says matter-of-factly, because it’s her way just to say it baldly and get it over with. “I stopped taking my pill.”</p><p>“Oh?” His voice has a tone she can’t recognise.</p><p>She sits by the dressing table, brushes her hair. “It was making me feel unwell, the side effects, headaches and things. So, I just decided.” She put the brush down, turns now to face him. “To stop.”</p><p>“Alright. Shouldn’t that be the kind of thing you tell me when it happens, or even before?”</p><p>“You mean like buying a new house…?”</p><p>He sighed at that, changes tact, “I thought for one miracle of a second you were going to say we’d had another five-year gap, it was time for baby number three.”</p><p>“Christ, hardly. I can’t think of anything worse.” She feels bad then, because the look on his face is pained. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Not a surprise to me, Gerri. I might not say it, but I see it.”</p><p>“Well,” she got to her feet, turned off the main light so only the lamp by the bed is on. And then she thought, might as well get on with it, because she was tired from the travel, so she took her nightgown off and stood by the bed naked.</p><p>He sat forward, held his arms out and she went to him, stood with her knees pressed against the side of the mattress as he buried his face in her stomach, hands reaching to grasp her breasts. She rested her chin on the top of his head, breathed him in, this dear man who she had been with for so long now and shared so much, with his soft accent and his quick mind.</p><p>“We’ll have to go the old-fashioned route,” she says against his hair, “protection wise.”</p><p>“You think I have any,” he chuckled, and she felt his mouth move over her skin. “The very old-fashioned route,” he laughs. “Rhythm method it is.”</p><p>She holds his head as she looks down at him, “That’s hardly fool proof.”</p><p>His hands are gripping her hips, he slides his legs out of bed, feet hitting the floor beside hers and she can see his erection already as the sheets slip.</p><p>“Don’t deny an old man.” He teases and she smiles at that.</p><p>“You’re not old,” she bends to kiss him, lets his hands slide round to her bottom as she moves to kneel on the edge of the bed, one leg either side of his. He holds her, lifts and manoeuvres her body until she’s sliding onto him and he groans loudly.</p><p>“Shh,” she presses her hand over his mouth. “Don’t wake them.”</p><p>She is good at this now, pushes him back so he’s lying and looking up at her, knows it won’t take long if she does it right. That’s another thing wives do, she learnt that quickly too.</p><p>When he’s close she lifts herself off of him, his hands finish it, but after he wants to pleasure her, is eager to make sure she enjoys it too. But she is tired and there’s the awkwardness of trying to ease him to sleep without telling him she’s uninterested.</p><p>She’s uninterested.</p><p>She’s not sure when it happened. She enjoys sex, had always, but she doesn’t need it in the way she once did. She doesn’t crave him like she did at the start, maybe children did that, took that edge away. For a long time she lies in the dark listening to him snoring, his leg draped over hers, thinking about the nature of relationships. The ebb and flow of it all. She would never leave him, doesn’t want to when she really asks herself that question – she still loves him, and it would hurt not to be with him.</p><p>But something is missing. Something isn’t right.</p><p>Maybe that’s just who she is. Cold heartless bitch.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>present</em> </strong>
</p><p>They decide early on in arrangements that they will leave early Friday afternoon and have the house to themselves for one night before the family arrives. They helicopter in – Roman’s arrangement – and there is nobody there, no staff, no caterers, and he’s reminded of being alone with her in the castle. The bliss of that.</p><p>The days are warming now, and the lake is still and flat but there’s a light breeze coming in when they walk to the house that makes her skirt blow around her legs.</p><p>“What’s in the box?” He asks, carrying it inside.</p><p>“Ingredients.”</p><p>“This is pretty nice,” he says admiringly, looking around.</p><p>“Hmm, they got the flowers I requested, good.”</p><p>He smirks at that, at how she marches through checking every room, the sound of her heels clipping the polished tiles, her exacting standards. He finds the kitchen, puts the box down, from there he can see the water and he stands watching it, waiting for her to find him.</p><p>“Everything seems fine,” she says, plonking her handbag down by his arm.</p><p>“You’re not going to try cooking tonight, are you?” He jerks his thumb at the plastic tub she’s made him cart in. “I thought we asked for food to be delivered?”</p><p>“Don’t say it like that, disparaging tone.” She clips his arm, “And never you mind. You aren’t going to be here for a couple of hours.”</p><p>His eyes widen, turning and leaning back on the counter as he looks at her. “Err, I’m not?”</p><p>“I thought it might be nice for you to receive one of your birthday presents early?”</p><p>“Okaaay, so as I’m not going to be here I’m surmising one of my presents isn’t you?”</p><p>She smiled, stepped into his body, hands sliding over his flat stomach. “I think I’m more of an everyday gift now.” She gave him a brief kiss. “You ever heard of a catamaran?”</p><p>“Eye infection?”</p><p>“Yes, clearly, that’s what I’ve got you.” She rolled her eyes at his amused expression. “It’s a type of boat, you can race them, they’re very light, can sail upwards of 40 knots in the right conditions. You’ll like it because, well, there’s a thrill, it’s dangerous.”</p><p>“Have you bought me a boat?”</p><p>“Have I fuck, they’re about 8 million! But I figured before you jump into buying a boat, you need lessons, so, I have bought you lessons. For as long as you want them. Your first one is in about half-an-hour, so, you should change, there should be clothes on the bed in the master suite.”</p><p>She felt his hands squeeze her waist, and he’s got this odd bemused smile on his face like he’s still processing all of what she’s just said, and she’s unsure if he’s actually entirely happy with her taking such liberties and committing him to something like this.</p><p>“Two things.” He says.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“One, have I mentioned you’re fucking amazing?”</p><p>“Maybe once before.”</p><p>“You are. Seriously. Two – we get the master suite?”</p><p>She shrugged, “We are the hosts of the weekend, unless you want your father to have it.”</p><p>He seemed to mull on that, “Kinda like the idea of us having it, power move, clever.” His expression changes as he figures it out, picturing his father arriving and realising he’s got the second-best room; there’s a kind of triumph in that.</p><p>“I was actually thinking that room is quite far from the rest, so it would be acceptable for us to still, perhaps, make love on your birthday.”</p><p>“That would be happening whichever room we’re in.” He kissed her then, holding her warm body tight against his, stroking his hands up and down her back. “This is, you know, a real thoughtful gift.”</p><p>“I am thoughtful,” she insisted, pressing her hands to his shoulders, swaying against him. “With certain people.”</p><p>“I’m glad I’m on the good list.”</p><p>“You’re on the fucking naughty list and you very well know it.”</p><p>He stroked his chin along her cheek, which he knew annoyed her, “So glad you’re my bitch.”</p><p>“You’re mine, and we both know that too! Now,” she gave him a quick kiss, “fuck off and get changed, give me some peace.”</p><p>He’s gone and back within ten minutes, and by then she’s set herself up – laid out her tools on the kitchen counter.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” He asks, pressing up against her back, kissing her neck.</p><p>“Because I wanted to do something nice, so leave me be.”</p><p>“We have caterers coming tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yes, so I want to do it tonight, before they can judge my piss-poor efforts.”</p><p>He took hold of the zip on her dress, inching it down, pressing his mouth to her skin as he revealed it.</p><p>“Roman…”</p><p>“It’s my birthday, I have rights to birthday treats.”</p><p>“Yes, and you can have lots of them, later.” She pressed her bottom back into him, “Now, clear off and let me concentrate.”</p><p>“It’s like a military operation.”</p><p>She had her iPad propped up against the wall following the instructions, the entire work surface covered with the ingredients she’d need. Utensils. Dishes. Baking paper.</p><p>“I would help but I’m going to learn how to be an action man so…”</p><p>“Oh shit, and I was relying on you annoying the hell out of me whilst I do this. You want me to walk you down to the scary boat man, or can you manage on your own?”</p><p>“You know,” he zipped up his jacket, “technically you’re meant to be nice to me the entire time for my birthday.”</p><p>“Well, technically your birthday isn’t until Sunday, so, fuck the fuck off. Oh, and have a good time.”</p><p>“Happy baking.”</p><p>“Happy sailing.”</p><p>*</p><p>When he’s on the water and listening to the instructor it occurs to him that this is perhaps the most thoughtful present he’s ever received. It makes him feel odd, imagining her taking the time to consider what to get him, what he’d enjoy, something he hasn’t already got. He knows the perils of trying to buy for people with money. But she’s smart, she pays attention to people and silently absorbs it all and then these choices come out of nowhere, these well-considered, caring things just appear. She could have instead stuck to their game of purchasing each other cheap shit, trash that will make them laugh but is utterly pointless. But no, she goes the extra mile.</p><p>He’s going to have to up his game for her birthday.</p><p>When the wind hits the sails and the glider lifts, he understands why she thought this for him; it is a rich person’s hobby, yes, and graceful with it, but it’s thrilling too, to feel your body lift with that lightweight craft. He is laughing when they hit the water again and desperate to learn how to control it, the ice of the water splashing in his face.</p><p>Easy to forget the big stuff out there, to race and ride the curve of the wind, to be entirely focussed on the task at hand because you can’t afford for one second to lose sight of your role on the team. He is just an observer at present, learning, but he is adamant that within months he will play a crucial role in driving one of these things forward. And that again means she has read him so well, just as she did all that time since in Japan. He isn’t dumb, he knows the score, she saw a flicker of something and nurtured it and now he’s pushing himself at work too.</p><p>One day, when he’s confident, he’ll get Gerri to join them, show her what he’s learned.</p><p>*</p><p>“What the fuck happened?” He laughs when he sees her – a white stain that seems to run from her breasts down to the edges of her skirt, a splatter of something.</p><p>“I’ve had a nightmare of a time.”</p><p>“Why? What the hell you been doing? This looks more dangerous than the boat.”</p><p>“Christ,” she stops rubbing the kitchen surface and turns to look at him. “I had this cute idea, I thought it was cute, it was fucking ridiculous really – that I might make the Japanese cheesecake for you, because it was, well it seemed a sweet idea… it’s bullshit really.”</p><p>“That was our dessert, the one we shared in Tokyo.”</p><p>“Well, I thought I’d make it instead of someone else, make it personal, we could have some tonight whilst we’re alone.”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>“These instructions are bullshit too.” She pointed at her iPad, “it said whisk together eggs and the cream cheese and butter, so I did, and literally – well, look at me. It immediately covered me. And the wall. And the surface.”</p><p>He laughed. He shouldn’t, not really, because he could imagine her face when it happened, her frustrations, but it was hilarious nevertheless.</p><p>“Don’t. I mean how was I to know you have to melt or soften the butter first? It doesn’t say that in the fucking instructions and I followed them to the letter! So, I started again.”</p><p>He was still smirking, taking his damp jacket off. “I had a more successful time, cold now though, might take a bath.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Are you sulking?” He perhaps finds this even more amusing, that she might be so upset about her failure to produce a cheesecake that she adopts the petulant child posture he wears so well. The woman has brought down entire companies, for Christ’s sake. “I’ve never seen you sulk.”</p><p>“I am not.” She moved to the oven, peered in, “you see, it’s only got ten minutes to go and it’s not risen like in the stupid picture. Screw this.” She went to open the oven.</p><p>“No, leave it,” he caught hold of her arms. “It’ll taste okay, risen or not. Who gives a shit, really?”</p><p>“I do, I wanted to make it real nice.” She is keenly aware of how incredibly childish she sounds right now, almost stomping her feet in frustration. “I tried really hard with it and it still went to shit.”</p><p>He laughed again, pulling her to him, “Oh honey, you tried your best.” He placated.</p><p>“Fuck off.” She muttered against his chest.</p><p>“I appreciate the sentiment, anyhow.”</p><p>“Fuck off again.” She snapped, and then she held him, and laughed into his sweater. “I will never try to cook again. I will order next time.”</p><p>“Well, I can guarantee you that whatever happens I will definitely get somebody else to prepare whatever it is we eat for your birthday.” He kissed her head. “Thanks for trying.”</p><p>“Two wasted hours of my life.”</p><p>“Well, you’ve still learnt something.”</p><p>“That I’m still useless at it, as I always was. I am not domesticated in any way, shape or form.”</p><p>“But I love you like that. Got an idea… How about we open a bottle of wine and you join me in the bath, clean the batter out of your hair.”</p><p>“Scandalous. Give me…” she looked at the clock, “seven and half minutes, then this has to be left to cool so I will join you in the tub.”</p><p>*</p><p>She had lit candles, thought it would be romantic, or sexy, or both. And there’s a chilled white on the side. She is behind him, leaning against the back of the tub, legs slightly raised, and he rests between them, head on her chest. Her eyes are closed, and she can smell the scent of the lake in his hair, the spray. Listens to him as he retells her his experience, can sense the excitement in his voice despite his obvious intentions to hide it, using the flat plain of his hand to show how they had glided through the water. So like a boy at times.</p><p>“So you’ll go again?” She asks, voice languid with the heat of the water.</p><p>“You thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you?”</p><p>“I wondered, takes a lot of staying power, to learn how to do it.”</p><p>“You think I don’t have staying power?”</p><p>“No, I think you do. I think you think you don’t.”</p><p>“That’s confusing…” he sighs, “I’ve booked in for the end of next week, back in the city.”</p><p>“Well then, I’m impressed.”</p><p>“That’s a fucking triumph then, impressing you.”</p><p>“Mm, shut up for a while, let me relax.”</p><p>He closes his eyes, leans back fully and feels her body shift and move as she tries to get comfortable, his head slips to the left, she goes right, rests her chin on his shoulder. The splash of water as she moves her leg out from under his, bends her knee. He understands now why people find this kind of thing so intoxicating, it had never appealed before, bath nor shower. He needed his space.</p><p>“When did you know I had a crush on you?”</p><p>“You managed literally sixty seconds of silence then.”</p><p>He shuts up again, tries to entertain his brain by sliding his hand through the water, hitting the top of her thigh with his palm as he does so, slipping over her skin like silk with a combination of the heat and the bath oil she’d used.</p><p>He feels her sigh, her chest move, realised he’s squashing her breasts and feels like he should shift.</p><p>“You kept turning up.” She says. “In my office, or lurking outside my office door. Texting nonsense questions you didn’t really need me to anwer. It gave me a clue. I thought it would pass.”</p><p>“You say that matter-of-factly.”</p><p>“It might surprise you but I have had men with crushes on me before.”</p><p>“It doesn’t surprise me. Feel like an idiot now.”</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“Walking past your office.”</p><p>She smiled, he could sense the shift in her tone, “I liked it. Not all my crushes are rich thirty-somethings.”</p><p>“Glad I could offer some interest.”</p><p>She pressed her fingers into his damp hair, brushing it back.</p><p>“I kept trying to push. Get you to spend time with me. Fucking overjoyed when Dad said we had to work together on some shit.”</p><p>“I know that too.”</p><p>“Is there nothing you don’t know, Christ.”</p><p>She thinks on that, could be a bitch and tease him some more, but instead strokes her hand around and over his chest. “I didn’t know I’d return it,” she says and that makes him feel good, better than any boat on any lake.</p><p>“I like this place,” he says. “This house. We should get a house like this.”</p><p>That wakes her up. <em>We</em>. As if one day they might not only live together but own more than one property. Multiple homes. She isn’t sure if he recognises he said it or not, a casual slip of the tongue, but it’s made her feel excited and hopeful in a way nothing has in years.</p><p>*</p><p>“You know what I miss, sometimes?” he asks this as he’s holding her hand up in the air, both lying facing each other naked in bed.</p><p>“Go on.” Her voice is muffled by her pillow.</p><p>“Touching your hands for the first time, I’d like to do that again.”</p><p>She almost laughed, if it weren’t for the fact he sounded so incredibly sincere and then she felt bad for finding it amusing, because it was actually a very tender thing to say, when she thought about it.</p><p>“How come?”</p><p>“Because it means something, doesn’t it, well I think… touching hands. The few times our fingers met over a piece of paper or when you handed your glass to me. But I don’t remember the first time our hands touched.”</p><p>“Likely on the yacht.” She said, watching as he traced the outline of her fingers in the air. “Are we really getting into this?”</p><p>“Just an observation.”</p><p>“You sound drunk.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not,” he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her wrist. “And you touched my hair. First time, on the yacht, you stroked my hair.”</p><p>She exhaled, remembering.</p><p>“I liked it. It felt like… when you like someone and you’re not entirely sure if they like you back.”</p><p>“Hang on, you were unsure if I liked you?”</p><p>He nodded, “You could have just been being nice, you know, the whole family thing, couldn’t be rude to me. I hoped you liked me in return, as much as, you know, I did you. I thought maybe we were friends by then, not just work acquaintances. But you can never be sure. Learned the hard way Gerri, over the years, people don’t see you, they see money.”</p><p>“I see you,” she said gently.</p><p>He was still holding her hand, kissing her wrist, her palm, seemingly studying her skin up close. She let him, as if he needed that distraction in order to open up to her in the way he was.</p><p>“I know, I think you’re the only person who has ever really seen me.”</p><p>She noticed he couldn’t look at her, despite the fact she was staring straight at him, her eyes unpeeling layer upon layer of truths. Probing and searching silently. Perhaps she was able to undo him the way he had her; she hadn’t considered that, maybe she wasn’t the only one who felt completely exposed because they had fallen so far, so hard.</p><p>“Don’t want to sound like a moron.” He said.</p><p>“You know you don’t. And you know I would never think that anyhow.” She took her hand from his, stroked it down his bare arm until he looked at her. “I liked you for a long time.” She said with a half-smile, that quirky way she had of twisting her mouth to the right. “Even before I realised you might find me attractive.”</p><p>“I <em>might</em>. Like there was an option, a choice in the matter.” He moved his hand to her hip, shifting a little closer to her body. “If only I’d known, would’ve made life easier. It’s almost a year, you know, you think we should do something?”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d be into anniversaries.”</p><p>“I’m not. I wasn’t.”</p><p>“Maybe you could give me my dress back, as I bought it for the trip and wore it but once.”</p><p>“A recreation of the scene?”</p><p>She pulled a face at that, and he wondered at the reaction, did she think it too soppy, too sentimental? All those self-conscious feelings returned, even after all this time with her and how comfortable he felt; his mind could still pull cruel tricks.</p><p>“Maybe I could tag along on one of your lessons,” she suggests, “watch you at work.”</p><p>“You’d like that?”</p><p>“Course.” There was a gentle smile then, her eyes searching his. She moved her leg, slid it forward, her knee tapping his, draping her ankle over his feet. “Shall we eat something now?”</p><p>“I ate you,” he said, enjoying the sensation of her toes rubbing up and down his calf. His fingers slide over her arm, “My favourite taste.” He waits for the raised eyebrow, expects it as he smirks. “I’d do it again, every second,” he kissed her forehead, “every day.” Down her nose until she tilted her head up and met his mouth. She hooked her leg over his thigh.</p><p>“You know, I ordered your favourites.”</p><p>“Like the cheesecake?”</p><p>“Fuck the cheesecake,” but she laughed. “All those Japanese appetisers you enjoy, gyoza and harumaki and – ahh, Rome!”</p><p>He rolled her over, pinned her hands above her head, his tongue pushing into her mouth. The sensation of her sucking on his bottom lip, the heel of her foot digging in the back of his leg.</p><p>“You’re fucking spoiling me.” He says against her open mouth.</p><p>“It happens once a year, make the most of it.”</p><p>She goes downstairs in just his sweater, there is something pleasurable about it, how it skims the top of her thighs, the smell of his skin on it, and walking around practically naked with this – <em>almost constant now</em> – throbbing deep in her belly. The need for him.</p><p>A bottle of red is opened to breathe, placed on the side. She takes glasses from the cupboard, is standing on her tiptoes to reach the food that has been left for them on the top shelf in the fridge when she’s aware of somebody else entering the kitchen and she wonders why he’s bothered getting out of bed and is going to scold him when she steps out from behind the fridge door and sees Logan staring at her.</p><p>“Christ,” she instinctively jumped back behind the door, yanking the sweater down over her bottom. “We didn’t realise you were coming early.” She is unsure why she feels like she should apologise, experience perhaps, years of being the underling.</p><p>“We drove, I’ll er…” He is embarrassed, that surprises her. She figured he’d be all bravado and lecherous and condescending. “Marcia,” he calls along the hall and Gerri is glad when she hears her soft footfalls. “Ah, Gerri is…”</p><p>Marcia stifles a chuckle, “Oh goodness. Sorry. We interrupted.”</p><p>“We were just going to eat.” She feels like an idiot, like being a teenager again and hiding from her boyfriend’s mother in the wardrobe. She pokes her head out, meets Marcia’s eyes which glint with approval. “I’ll go get Roman. If you could just…”</p><p>Marcia turns Logan around and she races past them, still yanking the sweater down.</p><p>*</p><p>There’s enough food for all four of them and Roman is quick at pulling shit together, so he preps the dining table and pours the wine and soon they’re sitting to dinner with the memory of Gerri parading around the kitchen half-naked banished; though occasionally Roman gives her this look that resembles a barely suppressed smirk.</p><p>“So, what made you come now instead of the morning?” Gerri asks, twisting noodles on her plate.</p><p>“Logan wanted to be driven out, not helicopter. He’s been feeling a little dizzy of late.”</p><p>Roman looked up at that, despite the months past the memory of his father still lying in a hospital bed hooked up to numerous machines was fresh in his mind. “You okay, Dad?”</p><p>“Don’t start with the fuss, I’m fine, all is fine. Apart from black noodles.” He held some up limply on his fork.</p><p>“They’re charcoal noodles, Dad. They’re good with the fish."</p><p>“What’s wrong with a steak?”</p><p>“We didn’t realise you’d be here tonight, Logan,” Gerri starts, “this is…” she folded her ankles beneath the table when he turned his attention to her; there was still that awkwardness at being there in a non-business capacity. “…I chose this with Roman in mind.”</p><p>“And no staff?”</p><p>Roman refilled all their glasses, “There will be tomorrow. We just wanted a night alone.”</p><p>Logan scoffed but Marcia was apologetic, Gerri brushing it off as easily fixed.</p><p>“Do we eat the cheesecake?” Roman asked later, when they were cradling wine glasses and missing the rest of the family being there to keep the inane chatter going. He resented it really, he was enjoying being alone with her out of the city. It seemed a long time since their holiday, a lot had happened since those carefree days.</p><p>“Oh shit.” Gerri muttered into her glass.</p><p>“Gerri baked…<em> tried</em> to bake a cheesecake for me.” Roman announced to the others.</p><p>“I didn’t realise you were such a fan.” Marcia said.</p><p>“Well, no, it’s a long story, really, a Japanese recipe.”</p><p>Something clicked in Logan’s brain and he recalled Roman saying something about Japan and them getting closer. He noted the way Gerri was turned in her chair, this look on her face he wasn’t used to seeing, the way she leant in towards his son and the smile he gave her when he was talking.</p><p>“You never told me you could cook, in all these years,” Marcia said.</p><p>“I can’t.” / “She can’t.” They overlapped and then laughed together.</p><p>“Needless to say it doesn’t look like the picture. But we can try some, I guess, it might taste okay.”</p><p>“Baird always said you didn’t have a domestic bone in your body,” Logan commented and Roman resented that for too many reasons – the mention of her husband once again, the fact Logan would always have this longer, older history with her.</p><p>“I’m not ashamed to admit he was right.”</p><p>“Good old Baird, god bless him.” Logan said and she wasn’t sure who cringed more, herself or Roman.</p><p>“Yeah, shame he’s not still here, hey Dad,” Roman said, polishing off his glass of wine in one gulp.</p><p>Gerri momentarily closed her eyes, just for a flicker of a second, some pained expression sweeping its way across her features. But when she opened them again Logan was watching and she felt like she was being tested all over again, that shiver of ice he seemed to bring with him that could destroy any shred of happiness. No wonder Shiv didn’t want him at her wedding; she didn’t want him at this weekend, not really, not if it could have been helped.</p><p>She rested her hand on Roman’s arm on the table, patted it twice.</p><p>“After dinner, Gerri,” Logan said, pushing his plate away.</p><p>“Hmm?” She tuned in again to him, turning her attention from Roman’s heavy expression.</p><p>“We can get started on the Parks re-structure; I want to know how far you’ve got with the staff cuts.”</p><p>“Well I…”</p><p>“This isn’t that type of weekend, Dad,” Roman said, his voice dry, as if it was on the verge of shaking.</p><p>Gerri interrupted quickly, before anything cruel could be said, “Well, truthfully, Logan, I haven’t even brought my laptop with me.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You haven’t?” Roman’s head turned to her.</p><p>“No I, well I didn’t think I’d need it. I figured the weekend would be full.”</p><p>“These things are always about work.” He stated. “Always time for work.”</p><p>She lifted her chin, facing off with him, “Not this one. I’ve planned a lot of activities for everyone, things Roman likes.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, drilling his fingers against the dining table. “What a lucky little boy he is.”</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Past</em> </strong>
</p><p>Saturday passes pleasantly enough; the weather is fine and the girls are easily entertained by the sand and the sea. Baird reads and sleeps, occasionally snores with his forehead pressed up against Gerri’s upper arm, and she sits with her hat on and sunglasses and her laptop pressed on her knee; glancing up now and then to check on her daughters. They seem happy, she listens to their inane chatter and laughter with one side of her brain, the other concentrating on the documents she’d emailed to herself before she left the office. There is a talent in being able to work like that. Besides, she has never been one for the sun, she wears heavy sun cream and positions an umbrella over her head, her skin is pale and easily burns and Blair is the same but she complains every half hour when her mother makes her come back for a top-up.</p><p>One day, she thinks, they will be grown up and gone. A different city, perhaps, certainly different interests, and then Gerri won’t have to feel so guilty about working, about her life revolving around it. She tells herself she should make the most of having them young, in the grand scheme it is a tiny moment of time, less than twenty years, and to sacrifice her work shouldn’t be such a big deal. Only it is. It is like telling her to put her life on hold for that time.</p><p>“How’d you get that?” Baird asks, and she never even realised he was awake. He’s leaning over her arm now, scanning the page. “That’s meant to be for me, surely?”</p><p>She feels like covering the screen, closing the lid; this icy feeling creeping up her chest. “I was asked to look it over first. It’s nothing.”</p><p>“Sure, it’s nothing. You think I’m blind?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“I can see the plan, Gerri.”</p><p>“What plan?” She does close her laptop now, sitting up and pushing it into a bag. Her stomach feels tense, as if something awful is going to happen and she’d expected it but there’s little she can do to prevent it happening – it was inevitable, unfortunately. “There’s no plan.”</p><p>“To oust me.”</p><p>“Why would I possibly be involved in something like that? You’re my husband.”</p><p>“Which we both know matters little when it comes to shit like this. I’m slipping, not as sharp as I once was, you’re hungry for it. I can see what’s going on, have done for a while.”</p><p>“You’re paranoid.” She pouts, folding her arms.</p><p>“Logan wants me out as general counsel, you in.”</p><p>“That’s your conclusion, not mine.”</p><p>“If he wants me out fine, he can pay me to go. But you, he’s not having my wife.”</p><p>“In what possible… hang on, are you suggesting I’m only capable of moving into the role because I’m fucking him?”</p><p>He moved to sit up, shaking the sand from his hair where he’d been sleeping.</p><p>“Don’t ignore the question, and don’t belittle me. I can do this job.”</p><p>“We all know that; you’ve made no secret of it. Nothing else matters it seems. Who the fuck brings a laptop to their day at the beach, what kind of mother…?”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” she grabbed his arm, made him look at her, “you know who I am, I told you that from the start. We made a deal, I would have a child with you, you pushed for two, here we are.”</p><p>“Like it’s a fucking hardship being with us. If it’s so bad then leave, go, I’m sure Logan will helicopter you out.”</p><p>“Don’t guilt trip me, there was a time you were all about the work. I never once complained when you crawled into bed after three because you’d been out with the big boys ‘on some deal’. I wasn’t allowed into the club then, but I am now, Baird, and I’m not going to lose my place in it because your masculinity is threatened.”</p><p>He pushed her away, getting to his feet, “You want my job come at me for it. But this,” he pointed at her, “you and I – you’re my wife, fucking act like it.”</p><p>“How am I not doing everything a well-behaved little wife does, hey?”</p><p>“Last night for a start, you think I don’t know that sex with me has become a chore, you can’t even be bothered to put the time in to fake it?”</p><p>She groaned at that, dragging a hand through her hair, slipping her sunglasses off as she stared up at him. “I might have known a man has to bring it back to sex, heaven forbid I might not really be in the mood for it.”</p><p>He is saying something to her, but her attention is gone now, as she stares around him, spotting where the girls are, hoping they aren’t listening. And then she’s on her feet, it takes less than half a second, and she’s pushing past him and her hat flies off down the beach as she runs to the shore. She’s never run so fast in her life. Her heartbeat in her ears is pounding and she can’t fill her lungs with enough air. She races past where Blair stands waist deep in the sea and throws herself forward, the summer dress she’s wearing dragging her down, the weight of it pulling in the water as she propels herself forward, arms reaching out and searching. It takes her two dives and then she’s clawing at the air, trying to find her footing, Maisie heavy over her arm as she lifts her up and turns and then Baird is taking the child from her and carrying her to shore and for a moment she stands and waits for her hearing to return.</p><p>It eases in painfully and it’s the sound of Blair crying which hits her first, still standing in the same spot as she was when Gerri raced past her. And then her own breath coming in fits and starts. She can hear Maisie coughing, sees her hugging her father, and relief hits. She’s alive. She’s okay. The sea rushes past her legs.</p><p>“You stupid girl,” she cries out, “you shouldn’t have let her go out so far. She could’ve died.”</p><p>“Hey, Gerri!” Baird shouts and she watches as Blair races off back towards the house. “You fucked that!”</p><p>She drags herself out of the water, all kinds of guilt filling her stomach, and drops to her knees beside the bedraggled little girl.</p><p>“My baby,” she says, stroking her head, pulling her into her lap, rocking her tenderly and hiding her face in her hair.</p><p>*</p><p>Just to be safe, Baird assures her as he drives to the nearest hospital with Maisie. The house seems stark and silent when the sound of the car has gone, and the fact the sun is still out and the beach is still there angers her. When she was young she would walk away when things got too much, hide as a child, find her bike and disappear for hours. Even when she was in her early twenties and there was a fight with a friend or a break-up with a boyfriend she would move on, always look forward, separate yourself from whatever was causing the pain because then it didn’t exist. Your emotions were kept in check.</p><p>But she couldn’t walk away from this.</p><p>They were her children, he was her husband, and there was nowhere else to go without them there.</p><p>Her wet dress clings to her skin and she peels it off right there in the kitchen, goes upstairs and runs a bath and then tiptoes into the girls’ room; Blair is under the sheets hiding away and she is reminded all over again of how similar this child is to her. She lifts the duvet from her, strokes her long hair back from her puffy red face.</p><p>“You need to have a bath, clean the salt from your skin,” she says gently, “come on.”</p><p>She feels like she can’t leave her alone in the bathroom, though she’s unsure as to why, and so she uses the sink, cleans herself up and puts on fresh clothes. Blair sits with her chin on her bent knees, and without saying anything Gerri leans over and sets to washing her hair.</p><p>“Your hair got so long,” she says softly, lifting it to rub in the shampoo. “You do a good job washing it all yourself.”</p><p>“Janey helps,” the girl says, though her voice almost disappears it’s so small, and Gerri had almost forgotten about their nanny and a whole new wave of guilt arrives to pile on top of the rest.</p><p>“You think Maisie is okay?”</p><p>“Yes, I think she’ll be fine.”</p><p>“You ran real fast.”</p><p>She says nothing to that, rinses the suds from her hair.</p><p>“Mommy.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I’m sorry I let you down.”</p><p>She closes her eyes, feels the words like a knife wound to her throat. “You haven’t. I let you down, I should have been watching more closely.”</p><p>“Was Daddy angry?”</p><p>“With me. Not you. Listen, how about you and I try to fix something for dinner, so it’s ready when they get back, that’ll be nice, won’t it?”</p><p>“Can we have baked potatoes?”</p><p>“Sounds manageable.”</p><p>*</p><p>Maisie walks herself from the car to the house, though she is still quiet, the bubbly energy-stacked little being suppressed. Baird finishes dinner, Gerri bathes their youngest girl and after eating she sits on the couch in the den with Maisie one side of her – her head in her lap – and Blair the other, pressed up against her side. They watch some kids film though she  dozes off twice and by the time the film is over both girls are fast asleep pressed against her.</p><p>Baird carries them to bed and, surprisingly, Gerri is curled on the couch when he goes back down.</p><p>He perches on the edge of the coffee table, hands folded together.</p><p>“You want a divorce?” He asks starkly.</p><p>She is surprised by that, by the break in this man’s voice, he had always seemed solid to her, larger than life.</p><p>“No. Do you?”</p><p>“Course not, I love you. I love the girls.”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“You think I’m lying?”</p><p>He shrugs, looks to the floor, and her heart aches. That terror from earlier in the day hasn’t disappeared, she can still taste the saltwater, feel her hands grasping her daughter’s body and wrenching her up. She can feel her entire life unravelling and it terrifies her.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s enough… For you. I think you’re searching for something more, and I can’t give it to you, lord knows I’ve tried.”</p><p>“Don’t say that.” She pressed her hand to his knee. “I’m sorry, if you think I’ve been absent. Look, maybe I was thinking that things could be put on hold a few years, me potentially moving… well, until the girls are that little bit older.”</p><p>“Maisie is still a baby,” he said. “Today has, you know, it brings it home. The only things that matter are those girls, and you, Gerri. So, you want general counsel and Logan wants to give it you then…” he shrugged, “so be it. But don’t forget what else you have here. It’s different for a woman, I don’t make those rules but it just is, I don’t want you to resent me for that.”</p><p>“I could never resent you; you’ve given me so much.”</p><p>“I know Logan is one of my oldest friends, but I’m not blind to him, I know what he is. If you and he –,”</p><p>She held her hand up, “There’s nothing going on there. I could never sleep with a Roy; I know too much about their faults.”</p><p>He smiled at that, “Let’s have a drink, hey, before bed. I’ll make you a Martini?”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Present</em> </strong>
</p><p>Following breakfast there had been a stream of water activities, everything designed as a competition and Gerri as some sort of score keeper ready to hand out praise and prizes by the end of it all. Roman had excelled at the kayaking, despite being partnered with Greg, and despite their trepidation both children had tried out windsurfing – they were brave kids, she wouldn’t even have a go herself.</p><p>By early afternoon they were all relaxing by the lake. Full stomachs and exhausted by the morning's activities. There’s a raft floating out in the water and Roman and Kendall swam over first, racing to start with, abandoning it midway when their arms tired, delighted to find a cool box stocked with beer waiting for them.</p><p>“So,” Kendall started, baking in the sun, swigging back his beer, “not used to seeing you like this man, fucking loved up.”</p><p>“Don’t take the piss, alright.”</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.” He laid back on the raft, looking up at the sky, felt Kendall turn to look down at him, tucking one leg beneath his body.</p><p>“Thought it might be a weird bit of fun, you know, at the start. Some kinky shit or something. Older woman, whatever.”</p><p>“Don’t mock her,” Roman said, suddenly feeling defensive.</p><p>“I’m not. I can see,” he looked out to shore, to where his father still perched watching and his son played with Rava and his daughter was swimming with Gerri and Shiv. “Fucking Brady Bunch today, you pulled something off there.”</p><p>“She did. She does shit, gets stuff done.” He said, pushing himself to sit and follow Kendall’s line of sight.</p><p>“You love her?”</p><p>Roman hid his gaze, looked to his knees, “Yep,” he nodded.</p><p>“Never expected,” Kendall let out some half laugh, almost as if it were strangled or caught in his throat. “I mean, Gerri, of all people, after all your years of being fucked up.”</p><p>“Fucking weird right,” he shrugged, “she makes me feel safe.” He admitted cautiously, but when Kendall didn’t smirk or even comment he felt brave enough to go on. “She’s very… she’s steady, calm, consistent. All those things we never had as kids that I’m thinking now maybe kids need, you know. Someone always there, someone who will always be on your side. She does that. Doesn’t make me feel like a total fucking moron 90% of the time. I like being in her company and, oddly, she seems to like being in mine.”</p><p>Kendall took another drink of his beer, twirled the empty bottle in his hand. “Well, I mean older women can be sexy, look at Stevie Nicks, she’s fucking hot. Helen Mirren – she’s what, seventy odd? Remember when we met her at that party?”</p><p>Roman laughed, “You don’t have to try and justify it to me,” he said, and then Gerri was close to the raft, Sophie just behind her, and he moved to his knees to offer a hand.</p><p>“That’s farther than you think,” she said, one hand holding onto the wood as she turns to the girl, “Come on dear, let them help you up.”</p><p>“You did good, Soph,” Roman said, he and Kendall taking a hand each and launching her up onto the raft.</p><p>“Gerri said if I stayed by her legs it would be easier to swim and it was.”</p><p>“You left your aunt behind,” they waved to Shiv as she floated on her back halfway to shore.</p><p>“It got hot,” Gerri commented, climbing the ladder and shaking the water free from her body. “Should have put my hat on.”</p><p>Roman held his bottle of beer out to her and she took it without question; it amused Kendall, watching her drink from it and then pass it back, he couldn’t recall ever sharing a drink with Rava in that way.</p><p>She settled on Roman’s towel, laying down and shielding her eyes from the sun. “You two okay up here then, like two hawks watching?”</p><p>“Good weekend Gerri,” Kendall said, “nicely done.”</p><p>“Why thank you, it’s going more smoothly than I expected to be honest.”</p><p>“Because we’re all a bunch of bastards usually.”</p><p>Sophie laughed, and Roman noted how she looked at Gerri before settling herself down on another towel and stretching her arms above her head in the way Gerri had done.</p><p>“Did he tell you he’s taking lessons?” She said, eyes closed now.</p><p>“Learning how to sail a cat,” Roman explained, “pretty fucking cool, truth be told. Birthday gift.”</p><p>“Cool gift, I was gonna get you lessons on how to be a cunt, but then I remembered you already got that down.”</p><p>Roman gave him the finger and Gerri shushed them, keenly aware of the language the young girl was picking up. She turned over onto her front so the sun could dry her back and didn’t even flinch when Roman’s hand found his way onto her back, trailing his fingers up and down her spine.</p><p>“Horse riding tomorrow, Sophie, you coming?” Roman asked.</p><p>“Yep, I want a white horse.”</p><p>“We’ll see what we can do,” Kendall laughed, and then, sometime later, “Shall we dive off, swim back, you and me? Leave these two alone a minute.”</p><p>“What for?” Sophie blurted, sitting up and looking at them. “Hang on, uncle Roman is…” She grinned as she seemed to work things out and then jumped to her feet.</p><p>“You’re getting too old and too smart,” Kendall said.</p><p>“No such thing as too smart,” Gerri mumbled into her towel, “ignore them.”</p><p>“Alright, so, race you back to mom,” Kendall was saying, but Sophie had already run the length of the float and bombed into the water before he finished.</p><p>Gerri turned again, folding her arms beneath her head to watch them, Roman was doing the same and he had this odd lopsided smile on his face, the one he got sometimes when they were in bed and chatting in the dark and he felt happy. Content. She watched his fingers trail over her stomach, then back down, a soothing repetitive motion.</p><p>“Good for her she fucking won.” He exclaimed and Gerri shielded her eyes as she sat up and saw Sophie jumping up and down as Kendall wearily crawled to shore. “She’s growing up, soon be a teenager and then where will we all be?”</p><p>“Rava seems competent,” Gerri observed, “I think she’s teaching her well.”</p><p>“You seem to have a fan in her.” He said, turning his attention to her now.</p><p>“Ha, she can do much better than look to me.”</p><p>“You make out you were bad with your children, but I don’t know. I mean in the space of day Sophie seems to have a kid-crush, and you’re patient, you’re patient with me.”</p><p>“That’s because I’m old now, time and distance, all that.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“One day with a child is different to every day, different to the real responsibilities of it. You don’t fancy it, not watching them and wondering…?” She probed, but he didn’t respond, maintained his silence, and that was fine, she didn’t expect an answer really.</p><p>“It reminded me, this weekend,” she sat forward, watching the people in the distance, Shiv and Tom splashing in the water. Willa and Marcia sunbathing, Connor reading, the children chasing their father, and Logan simply staring, watching, his sunglasses were on but Gerri could feel his gaze on them even at a distance. She hugged her arms around her knees and Roman shifted beside her, sitting next to her now, close enough that she could lean against him, rest her head on his upper arm.</p><p>“It reminded you?” He prompted.</p><p>“Baird bought a beach house once, I sold it some months after he’d died. The girls didn’t want it and I would never… Well, we spent this weekend there and Maisie almost drowned.”</p><p>“Christ.”</p><p>“Took years to rebuild her confidence with water, even in the pool. And we were arguing at the time, Baird and I, about my work – he thought I wanted his job.”</p><p>“Wasn’t he General Counsel, before you?”</p><p>She nodded, shifting her chin to rest on her knees. “I lied to him. I told him it hadn’t even been mentioned, but of course it had, your father had approached me about shifting Baird to a new role, moving me in. I had a lot of new ideas, you see, energy.” She breathed deeply, “That’s the thing Roman, there’s always someone waiting in the wings, someone faster, smarter, and in our world people will do anything to get ahead.” She turned her head to look at him, “Baird thought I was sleeping with your father.”</p><p>“You told me you never.”</p><p>“I didn’t. But then I also told Baird I would never sleep with a Roy, so…”</p><p>“Didn’t count on me turning out to be the sex-magnet I am,” he joked, flexing his arms.</p><p>“Well, obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “But I think your father thinks the same now, that I’m sleeping with you to hang on to a role I’ve had for a long time.”</p><p>He pursed his lips, his eyes flitting away from hers as he looked out across the water. “There’s nobody in the wings who could do it better.”</p><p>“Perhaps. For now.” She lifted her head, brushed her damp hair back from her face. “I was never very good at all that stuff, the emotional stuff, Baird would chide me for being detached from the kids, too reserved with them. But you know, don’t you, that this thing with you has nothing to do with the chess board we play on.”</p><p>He answered without hesitation, “Yeah, I know. This is good, you and I, it’s real good.”</p><p>She only smiled, leaned in to kiss him.</p><p>“You know he’s watching.” Roman said by her mouth.</p><p>“Let him.”</p><p>*</p><p>In any normal Roy family gathering it would have been a formal dinner, candles and servers and a different wine with every course. But it was Roman, and she knew when she’d planned this that he had little time for sitting still. Besides, it was almost summer, they should be outdoors enjoying the lighter nights. So by the time everyone had rested for a couple of hours in their rooms and changed, the outdoor area had been transformed with lights and music. There was a hog roast and a bar and the children were running around with candyfloss and pestering the adults to make use of the Go-Kart track which had somehow been erected.</p><p>“You got a racing track?” Roman had said when they got emerged outside, and she had shrugged in that nonchalant way she had, as if it were nothing.</p><p>“You mentioned once you had one as a kid and loved it.”</p><p>His hands were already on her waist, this wonderful smile as he inched closer to her.</p><p>“Just don’t expect me to partake, go play with the children.”</p><p>“You’re incredible,” he said before kissing her, not too much, his family were around and watching, he was well aware of them watching! “We’ll play our adult games later,” he whispered by her ear.</p><p>“A-ha, let the kids win once, yes?”</p><p>He shook his head mischievously, backing away from her. “Ken, come on.”</p><p>“Tom and Greg already on it, man, we’ve got a lot to prove.”</p><p>She hadn’t realised she was smiling at the group following the racing signs until she spotted Shiv looking at her, head tilted curiously as she observed. And then she moved towards her, handing her a glass of Champagne.</p><p>“You’re in love with my brother,” she stated, “I hadn’t realised that.”</p><p>Gerri sipped her drink, moving slightly to stand by Shiv’s side because looking at her as she said this was the kind of emotional intimacy she couldn’t deal with.</p><p>“I’d assumed the pair of you were just fucking about, having a bit of fun. You know.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Which is fine, like, people do that and it’s fine. But I hadn’t realised it was serious, or getting that way.”</p><p>“I would say serious for a while.” She admitted. “And I know how odd you might all find that. How awkward it is for me to be here in this capacity.”</p><p>Shiv turned purposefully so Gerri had to look at her, “I don’t mind it, it’s not like welcoming another one of his girls, least we can have a conversation with you, spill our guts.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“Thoughtful though, all this for him, not sure what he’s done to deserve it, never had my brother down as any kind of decent boyfriend. And Christ, he was going to a sex-therapist for years so I know he’s not much cop in that department.”</p><p>Gerri almost choked on her Champagne. “He’s been very good to me,” is all she said instead; she wasn’t about to protest as to how their sex life was unbelievable and that he was the sweetest, funniest person she’d ever spent time with. That he made her feel alive, touched her heart in a way nobody ever had.</p><p>The pair of them eventually drifted to the track to watch the racing, Willa was racing against the kids when they got there and Shiv went over to Tom, standing by his side at the side of the track. Gerri was leaning against the fence still sipping her drink when Roman came up behind her, his hands either side of her on top of the fence, body pushing into her back.</p><p>“Hi,” he whispered in the semi-darkness. “You er, come here often?”</p><p>She played along, “Not really, no.”</p><p>“Hmm, single, are you?”</p><p>“Depends who’s asking.”</p><p>He pushed against her bottom, earning himself a smirk from her as she moved her head a little to look at him. “Are you flirting with me, Mr Roy?”</p><p>“Oh absolutely, you’re a hot piece of ass.”</p><p>“Shh,” she felt her cheeks flush, glanced around to make sure nobody was nearby. But the others were either in their own conversations or watching the race, and the noise the cars made was enough to drown out anything they said.</p><p>“I like that smile,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder, arms around her waist now as he held her against him. “Did I say thank you?”</p><p>“I’m expecting it later.”</p><p>“Wicked woman.” He kissed her cheek, “You know, I’m allowed to touch you in public now.”</p><p>“Did you pass the entrance exam?”</p><p>“Got the fucking certificate framed and everything.”</p><p>She turned around, “I look forward to seeing it,” she patted his shoulders, “now go on, get out there and race because I’m going to put money on you for the win. Don’t let me down.”</p><p>Later, she somehow finds herself on a table with Logan, Marcia and the two children – the adult children have commandeered the go karts and their drunken cheers can be heard ringing out as Greg crashes into Tom for the fifth time.</p><p>“You paid for this fucking thing when it goes back crushed?” Logan asks, and she shakes her head despondently.</p><p>“I guess I pay for the repairs too.”</p><p>“Send them the bill,” he scoffs reaching for his whisky.</p><p>Despite the passage of time Iverson is still nervous around his grandpa, he stands beside Marcia, her arm half around him as they move the pieces of the game he had brought to the table. Sophie is attached to her iPad, sitting across from Gerri and Logan lounges back in his chair at the head of the small table, belly full of meat, this is likely the closest he’ll get to being settled. This is the price of it all, Gerri thinks, being attached to someone, having to spend time with their family. It’s not only about accepting their flaws and allowing for their bad days; it’s about having to make small talk and fill two days with chatter, pretending to be interested as Tom drawls on about some shit.</p><p>“You’ve surprised me,” he says, and she looks over her glasses at him. “When all this started, this mess,” she resents the use of that word, “thought it’d be over soon.”</p><p>Marcia is talking to Iverson at the opposite end of the table, and they’re almost enclosed in their conversation. She has known him long enough, maybe too long, to still feel nervous when he speaks, and yet she is, can’t help it.</p><p>“I dropped a clanger last night, mentioning Baird.”</p><p>“It’s not like Roman doesn’t know he existed.”</p><p>“Different though, the blessing of having a long memory means I remember what you were like when you married him, not been working for me long at that. We all thought you did it for the job security, no shame in it, plenty have done worse.”</p><p>“I remember the digs,” she said, refilling both of their glasses.</p><p>“You rode it out though, always tough, I liked that.” He tipped his glass to her as he picked it up. “I also remember what you were like when you were married, had children, spent weekends at our estates – nothing like this,” he seemed to smile over his glass at her, those glassy eyes reading all, revealing nothing.</p><p>“I was too busy trying be wife, mother and excel at my job to have time to plan anything like this.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant, any monkey can employ some gimp to put together a weekend, a party. I mean Romulas, the way you are with him. You think I don’t see it, the looks, the touches when you pass, that’s never been you, Gerri.”</p><p>She took a long drink of her whisky, moving in her chair, “Perhaps not. But we’re both older, Logan, people change.”</p><p>“Maybe. Didn’t think you’d change for my idiot son though.”</p><p>“We both know he’s far from that.”</p><p>“Oh, I know, just checking if you’d defend him.”</p><p>She smiled, rolling her eyes skyward, always a game. “Remember Malibu?” she said, leaning a little closer to him, “when he turned up with that girl?”</p><p>“She was of no consequence.”</p><p>“No, not really, but that wasn’t the point, was it? The point was to make me watch, to see him with some young nothing so it hurt me. And it did, Logan, and you knew that. So don’t tell me you didn’t know this was something.”</p><p>He seemed to turn this over, turning his glass around on the table, the ice knocking against the side of the glass. The odd tinkling music from Sophie’s game and Iverson’s hushed voice as he chatted to Marcia.</p><p>“I am sorry,” she said, pushing her tongue into her cheek, mulling over her words. “that I couldn’t do what you asked – but it is his choice. And if he wants a wife and children with some young nothing then I would never stop him, you must know that too. I’m not that selfish.”</p><p>His eyes rise at that, “You’d let him go, if it came to it?”</p><p>“I would.”</p><p>He nodded, “You’re a remarkable lady, Gerri.”</p><p>“Well, I hardly think…”</p><p>“Gerri! Look at this,” Sophie suddenly jumped up, bounding around to her chair. “Look, see, I won! This is the first time I ever won!”</p><p>She squinted, tried to make sense of the brightly coloured busy screen. “That’s wonderful. What is it again?”</p><p>“Fashion show, you design a look, and then people vote online and I’ve never won, I always come way down the list but I won and so you get onto the next level now and get more clothes and accessories and things.”</p><p>“A girl can never have too many accessories, especially jewellery.”</p><p>Sophie laughed at that, and Gerri smiled up at her, realising quite instinctively that she’d rested her hand on Sophie’s back.</p><p>“You want a go? I can show you how to do it.”</p><p>She bit her lip, feeling Logan smirk beside her. “You know what, why not? Go on, show me what to do.”</p><p>*</p><p>There was a firepit surrounded by white couches and when the children were in bed the adults gathered there for cocktails and birthday cake.</p><p>“Not a cheesecake in sight,” Roman observed, throwing himself over the back of the sofa as he passed it and crawling along it until he reached where Gerri sat. “Hello,” he said, “I do believe I’m feeling a little drunk,” he announced, before dropping his head into her lap, body stretched out full length.</p><p>She never missed a beat, lifting her glass out of the way, her hand resting on his shoulder without even looking away from her conversation with Marcia.</p><p>“My body aches like a motherfucker.”</p><p>“Getting too old for the karts now, Rome,” Shiv said from where she sat curled on the opposite sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, head resting against Tom’s arm.</p><p>“So, you’re aunty Gerri now,” Rava said as she came outside, barefoot, finding a space on the sofa beside Willa. “It’s quite the jump in one day.”</p><p>“Oh Christ,” Gerri pulled a face, and Roman laughed, turning his head sideways so he could look out at the gathered guests but otherwise making no move to shift himself from her knee. “She’ll be sorely disappointed.”</p><p>“Says you know colour combinations.” Rava said, pulling a blanket over her lap.</p><p>“I do know that, actually,” she agreed, sipping her drink, “fashion expert now, according to that game, anyhow. And it is a game for pre-teenage girls so…” she shrugged and the others laughed.</p><p>“You know what, if we ever have children you can be godmother,” Shiv said sleepily, or drunkenly, it was hard to tell which. “Some kind of poetic symmetry to that, being mine and my child’s.”</p><p>“It makes me sound very old.”</p><p>“You could be the one that turns up late, the chick in black,” Roman said, his voice muffled against her skirt. “Cast some evil doom.”</p><p>She tugged on his hair, “That’s not very nice.”</p><p>“Well, even if she is godmother,” Kendall said, “you can bet they won’t want you as godfather.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Too fucking right,” Shiv laughed. “You’d forget where you’d left the kid.”</p><p>Gerri’s fingers were stroking his hair now, he could feel the familiar movement, felt settled and comforted by it as the chatter went on around them. He caught the look that passed between Shiv and Kendall as they noted her movements, the ease of it all, the stillness she seemed to bring as she calmed everything just by being there. He breathed in the scent of her, closed his eyes.</p><p>“He asleep?” Logan barked across, making Roman flinch in her lap. “If he’s asleep surely that’s reason for us all to call it a fucking night.”</p><p>“We can retire at any point,” Marcia said, getting to her feet and giving Logan a pointed look. She leant over kissing Gerri’s cheek, “thank you for today.”</p><p>“Yeah, Roman’s landed on his fucking feet,” Shiv teased and despite the fact he still had his eyes closed and his face buried in Gerri’s skirt he still managed a ‘suck my dick’ in her general direction.</p><p>Once Logan had gone, he turned over, lying on his back, his head still on her lap. If she felt uncomfortable by the position her face didn’t show it; he realised sometimes he could be too much, jump too far ahead when she wasn’t ready, he was the extrovert of the two, he’d bound on full of excitement – she’d give his leash a yank and pull him back into line. But the conversation continued, she drank her Martini, her hand rested on his chest, so he took this as a good sign.</p><p>“You’re not actually considering having a kid with this chump, are you?” He threw out at Shiv and Tom laughed awkwardly.</p><p>“Maybe, at some point.”</p><p>“They are on the future timeline,” Tom said. “Two at least.”</p><p>Gerri watched Shiv’s face, hiding behind her glasses worked well at times, they couldn’t see her expression but she could see theirs, and she knew the look that had fleetingly passed over Shiv’s face, had no doubt worn it herself several times.</p><p>“You’ve got children, Gerri?” Rava asked and the question caught her for a moment – sitting there with this group of people who were, by and large, a similar age, and her being the one who had already done all that – the marriage and the children. She felt Roman’s head shift as he looked up at her.</p><p>“Two girls,” she said, “both in their twenties now.”</p><p>“What they make of you, bro?” Kendall asked, and Roman strained his neck, bending to look at his brother sitting with Rava; he wondered if they had reunited for real, or if this was just come comfortable routine designed for the kids.</p><p>“They haven’t had the pleasure of my company yet,” Roman said.</p><p>“They aren’t in New York,” Gerri said quickly, “they both work in DC most of the time.”</p><p>“Didn’t Blair go into law,” Shiv said, “I remember something about that.”</p><p>“She did.” Gerri’s glass was empty, and if it weren’t for the fact they were being watched she would have sent Roman for more. Funny how she altered her behaviour slightly either way – she wasn’t the Gerri of Waystar here, but neither was she the Gerri that would laugh and play around with Roman when they were alone. Maybe she’d relax more in time in that regard.</p><p>“Mommy’s footsteps.” Willa said from where she lay on another of the couches.</p><p>“Different branch. She’s in court fighting the good fight.”</p><p>“Maisie, that’s the other one,” Shiv said, “political analyst.”</p><p>“A-ha. She really enjoys it too.” Gerri said, and it was the first hint of pride, something in her chest reminding her that actually, at times, she did miss them, missed talking to them and checking in on their lives. She made a mental note to call both of them the following week.</p><p>“They know about Roman, right?” Shiv asked, as if she couldn’t help herself but push buttons, didn’t know where the line was.</p><p>“Not hiding him away,” Connor laughed, “scared they’ll not approve?”</p><p>Roman turned then, and then sat up, her hand dropping to her lap that was still warm from where he’d rested.</p><p>“Fuck off,” Roman snapped, “course they know.”</p><p>That was a lie. Or, if they did know, it was from paparazzi pictures and gossip, not directly from her. It suddenly struck her how odd that was, that she could be so very much in love with this man and yet she had not spoken of him to her own flesh and blood. She wasn’t embarrassed, it was more the fact that she feared their reactions and the fact that they might try to belittle it, to tarnish it in some way, and for some reason their comments – their judgements – would matter more.</p><p>“I’m sure the next time one of them is in the city we’ll meet for dinner and they can be entertained by him too.” She smiled, and then held her glass towards him until he got the idea and went to fetch her another drink.</p><p>The conversation moved on, shifting to other people and other topics, but the weight of what had been said seemed to remain in her chest, like some ugly little secret that she had been keeping and people had discovered. Roman sat close beside her on the couch, and as the evening wore on she curled her legs up, shoes kicked free, and lent against his side feeling sleepy and tired after two days of non-stop activities.</p><p>One by one the couples disappeared, until they were alone out there. And then she lifted her feet into his lap, let him massage the soles of her feet, rub her toes.</p><p>“It’s after midnight,” she said, “so, a proper Happy Birthday now.”</p><p>“Christ, thirty-nine.”</p><p>She screwed her face at that, “Did it feel odd, sitting here you and I, with your siblings and their partners, and you’re all the same age?”</p><p>“Hardly, Connor is older than all of us, and look at the difference between him and Willa. And let’s not forget,” he suddenly said more loudly, as if asserting himself, preparing for battle, “he’s fucking bought her, she’s not here of her own volition, he’s basically bought himself an escort. Might as well be a blow-up doll for all the deep interaction that takes place. Least you want to be here, or so I assume…”</p><p>She frowned, huffed, “You don’t need me to dignify that stupid question with a response.”</p><p>He smiled at that, dug his thumb into the soft fleshy part of her foot.</p><p>“Ow!” She snatched her foot back but he held onto it.</p><p>“The more obvious question is, how odd you feel about it? Because clearly you do or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”</p><p>“Not odd, I just had a moment, when I was looking around and thinking how potentially in the next ten years each one of those couples will start a family, get married, and therefore – again potentially – I’ll be there with you, and that might be awkward for you… To see all that going on and not have the same experiences as them. To be dragging this old woman around.”</p><p>“We’ve already been through this several times, and I’m not going to do it again. There is nothing in the world I want more than you, and this weekend has just proven for the millionth time,” he turned, somehow hooked his legs up onto the couch until he was crawling towards her, “that you are without doubt, the most amazing,” he bent and kissed her knees, “unbelievably kind and thoughtful,” he kissed her stomach, making her giggle as his fingers dug into her waist, “most gorgeous woman here.”</p><p>She was lying flat now, Roman hovering over her, a wonderful free smile on her face as her arms looped around him.</p><p>“There’s still staff around,” she whispered.</p><p>“We could give them a show,” he pressed his pelvis down against her.</p><p>“Or, you could take me to bed. Where it’s comfortable. And private. And I can sleep afterwards, because after all you know how I like to drift off following an orgasm or two.”</p><p>“High expectations,” he said, kissing her chest, “I’m older now, stuff ain’t gonna work forever.”</p><p>She chuckled at that, gripping his body, whispering by his ear, “Take me to bed.”</p><p>*</p><p>She is giggling like a schoolgirl and can’t help herself. The more she tries to stop the more she laughs, and the more she laughs the more Roman tickles her. Rolling around on the bed like two teenagers in their underwear.</p><p>“Stop it,” she gasps out, squirming beneath his hands, “they’ll hear.”</p><p>“Good, it’s good they hear – Ms Kellman is fun, funny, listen to her glorious laughter.”</p><p>Her hand reaches for a pillow and she whacks him around the head with it.</p><p>“Ah, now this is abuse.”</p><p>“So is tickling me until I pee myself,” she protested, pulling away and crawling across the bed, manoeuvring herself onto her knees as he did the same, reaching for a pillow too.</p><p>“This is a battle to the death now.” He says, and there’s this glint in his eye, like unearthing her childish playful side is some sort of win.</p><p>“I’ll win, if we start this,” she claims, feeling confident. “I’m quite the fighter when I get going.”</p><p>“Christ, I know. You did throw a shoe at me once, remember?”</p><p>She whacked him again with her pillow, knocking him backwards. “You promised to never mention that again.” She was laughing as she sat back, watching him flop down onto the floor, throwing his pillow back at her head. “Silly boy,” she said, straightening the pillows behind her.</p><p>“Actually,” he took hold of both of her ankles, unexpectedly yanking her down the bed as she yelped in surprise. “It was you who said we weren’t allowed to mention it. I made no promises.”</p><p>She is resting back on her elbows so she can look down at him, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Fucking promise now or my thighs are sealed.”</p><p>“You won’t want to do that.” He kissed her ankle, stroking her feet.</p><p>“Oh…?” That open-mouthed grin, eyebrows high. “I can go without, just test me.”</p><p>“You won’t want to miss this,” he said.</p><p>“I have more resistance than you.”</p><p>He jerked his chin, “We’ll see. Bet I can make you beg.”</p><p>“Like fuck!” She flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, determined not to respond. He was kissing up her shins, paused at her knees and paid attention to the dip there with his tongue which made her giggle. “It tickles,” she explained as he shot her a look.</p><p>His hands parted her thighs, at one point she used to be embarrassed about things like this, not just with him but all men, what they could see, smell – the odd fact that in this position they saw more of her than she’d likely ever see of herself. Even with Baird there could be a slim anxiety about it, but not with Roman.</p><p>“Your sister told me something.”</p><p>“Mmm,” he was licking up her thigh, felt her hand land on his head, fingers rolling into his hair. He lifted her left leg, draped it over his shoulder, enjoyed the way she gasped at the move.</p><p>“Hang on,” she started, “about you…”</p><p>“I figured that much.”</p><p>“…And a sex therapist.”</p><p>He stalled then, momentarily. He lifted his head, “You knew that, that I was a fuck up sex wise.”</p><p>“But not that you’d had a sex therapist.”</p><p>“I would have had a therapist for my toenails if I could.”</p><p>“When did you stop seeing them?”</p><p>“Hardly the time for this chat,” he said, swaying her leg on his shoulder. “I was just getting down to it.” He bit her big toe. “Years ago, ten, maybe a bit less.”</p><p>This surprised her. “And yet, the issues continued?”</p><p>“You trying to either embarrass me or put me off my stride to prove a point, fucking cruel.”</p><p>“Hardly,” she pressed her thigh into his shoulder. “My legs aren’t long enough for this.”</p><p>“Your legs are long enough for anything we do.”</p><p>“Roman…” She pressed.</p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Me. This…” She held her hands up, shrugging.</p><p>“It works with you.” He said, as if that offered explanation. That simple statement somehow meant to answer all of her questions in one.</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“That’s it. No therapy, no drugs, no fucked up kinky shit. It just works with you, okay,” he bent forward again, kissing her belly, “only works with you.” He said softly.</p><p>“Roman,” her voice was different now, fingers gentle as they stroked into his hair.</p><p>“Shh.” He kissed the very top of her thighs, delighting in how her body shivered against him.</p><p>“Can we really do this,” she said, “sex whilst your family is here? Someone might hear.”</p><p>“Then be quiet,” he laughed, “and stop talking.”</p><p>“Rome…”</p><p>“It’s a big house, we’re way down the hallway,” he hooked his fingers around the lace of her panties, yanking them down her legs. “You can’t scream like you might at home, but feel free to tell me how well I’m doing.”</p><p>“Brat. I never scream.”</p><p>“You scream sometimes, when I do certain things.”</p><p>“I don’t think of myself as a screamer, I’m fairly quiet, I’ve always been fairly quiet during sex.”</p><p>“I’ll remind you of that statement next time you’re screaming.”</p><p>His head disappeared between her legs and she felt him lick her from top to bottom, the lightest pressure of his tongue.</p><p>“Tell me to stop now,” he said, his thumb pressing into her, “that you don’t want me.”</p><p>“You know I do,” her voice had that heavy velvety quality he so loved when she was aroused, the way she would say his name in that voice, he would dream of it, imagine it when he was stuck in dull meetings.</p><p>“Thank you for this weekend, Gerri,” he whispered against her, his tongue dipping inside, delighting in the moan from the back of her throat.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she panted and he lifted his head, looked up at her, a lopsided grin, his hair hanging over his face.</p><p>“Well don’t fucking stop now then!” She barked and he laughed as he returned to his task.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>past</em> </strong>
</p><p>She lets him make love to her that night, no quick games or feigning sleep, she lets him take his time and hold her, cradle her, afterwards. Her head on his chest, her hair spread like gold over his skin. And there’s whispers in the darkness, his voice reminding her of when they met and when it was all fresh and new and exciting. When they laughed incessantly and every moment together felt like being given forever.</p><p>When his voice slows and his words become sloppy, she knows he’s falling to sleep and she stills, silent, the thud of his heartbeat under her cheek.</p><p>She slides out of bed, uses the bathroom, slips on her robe and tiptoes down the stairs. In the kitchen she boils the kettle to make tea though she’s unsure why, she isn’t thirsty, something to do, something to pass the time whilst she waits for sleep to take hold.</p><p>The sound of the sea draws her outside and she carries the mug of tea down the path, standing at the top of the beach as she sips at the Camomile concoction. It should be eerie in the dark, she should be scared, but she’s never been one for fanciful ideas or night terrors. If anything is likely to hurt her it will be a real-life flesh and bone human, not some monster hiding in the dark.</p><p>The moon is high and lights the beach and she can track the path she ran earlier in the day, can remember the smack of saltwater against her face as she threw herself in.</p><p>That must be love, right? To do that. That was terror, real life terror, that Maisie might drown, was struggling right there in front of her and she and Baird were so busy caught up in their own domestic squabbles she suffered and struggled for seconds longer than she should have done. There was no room to be selfish when you were a parent, and she was selfish, always had been.</p><p>Her brain felt overwhelmed with the memories of the day, exhausted by it, by Baird’s words mumbled in his post-sex haze, and the softness and comfort they were meant to bring, as if he were bestowing happiness upon her in those moments together. In another world maybe she would have left, if they didn’t have children it might already be over. He was right, of course, he was always right about things – the way he could read her – he wasn’t enough, she had known that for years now. And that made her selfish too, because she was always searching for more, something that she couldn’t find, a hole in her life she couldn’t fill. She went through the motions, she cared for him, cherished him, and he had this place lodged in her heart forever more because of what they’d shared. But they hadn’t laughed freely together in many years, maybe that’s what happened to all couples, as time passed, the laughter fades. Maybe it was normal when you settled into marriage and parenthood.</p><p>She missed being free enough to laugh. To feel love so intensely it brought joy to every fibre of your being.</p><p>She breathed deeply, this should have been the moment she shed a tear for her faults, her lack of decency, her detachment from her family. But she was too cold for even that. She squared her shoulders, turned back to the house that now belonged to them.</p><p>There at the window, Blair watched her, and for a second they stared at one another as if strangers meeting out at some far-off place. And then the curtain moved and Blair returned to bed and she was left alone, just her on a beach, and the sound of the sea.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Someone's Mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her alarm goes at 5:00. She presses it without looking, second nature after years and years of self-imposed time keeping. Eyes still closed as she falls back to her pillow, there’s always a few minutes where she’s waking, where her brain clears away sleep and prepares her mental checklist for the day.</p><p>She needs to shower.</p><p>Then make her early calls/check-ins.</p><p>Then dress and her car will be here.</p><p>A movement beside her, a body next to hers which she’s still getting used to; years of sleeping alone night after night, even sexual encounters ended with her tipping the guy out before she went to sleep. And yet there is Roman’s hand sliding over her stomach, she feels the sheets shift as he moves closer to her, gathering around her waist where he scrunches them in his fingers. His head by hers on the pillow now, the warmth of his breath on her skin. She can almost hear the cogs of his brain flickering to life.</p><p>Breakfast at her desk.</p><p>Read and respond to emails.</p><p>Meeting sharp at 8:30.</p><p>He doesn’t speak, there’s only the movement of his body to suggest he’s awake, his hair brushing her chin as he kisses her shoulder, presses himself against her leg. She can feel his erection, and she smiles at that youthful energy he still retains where he can make love to her for most of the night and still wake hungry for her; she pats his hand, hoping to strike the right balance of comfort not condescension. The soft milk-light of morning, as if it has come too soon, interrupted their night. Her body feels languid and unwilling to comply to the logical instructions of her brain.</p><p>“Morning,” she says, her hand on top of his on her stomach.</p><p>His hand slips from beneath hers, fingers spread wide as he moves them down between her legs, she gasps as he touches her. Her eyes are still closed and the sensation seems elevated because of it, a tickling warmth spreading up through her core, a gentle tightness that ebbs into a throbbing sensation the more he touches and rubs and strokes.</p><p>“This is why I don’t let you stay over mid-week,” she sighs, one hand sliding into his hair, as his mouth moves over her shoulder blade, up toward her neck, licking and tasting. “Roman, you’ll make me late.”</p><p>But he’s moving his body over hers, and she parts her legs, lets him rest between her thighs and there’s that wonderful warmth of early morning love making, where he’s hardly awake and she’s still got clouds in her brain and he’s inside her and it feels so good she could beg him to stay that way forever. She’s aware of the time ticking by yet somehow unable to stop herself from doing this, she is reckless with him, indulges herself in a way she never has before.</p><p>She turns her face, seeking his mouth, his kiss. Her tongue in his mouth, his name. She thinks she could do this every day and never get enough of him. The deep rocking of his body inside hers; he has got better at it over time, grown in confidence, in reading her body and her needs. Her head tilts back, she groans his name, a hand pressing into the material of the headboard behind her.</p><p>“I want you so much,” she hears herself say, and it doesn’t seem like her, to admit such a thing, to feel such a thing. But it’s truth.</p><p>When he says her name it makes her shudder inside, and he feels that too, knows she is close, slows down to drag it out and make her wait to climax. She is breathing so hard she can’t hear her own thoughts, is holding onto him, legs lifting and swaying in the air because the angle is so good when he’s right there and loving her.</p><p>“You’re so good for me,” he whispers against her skin afterwards, as he kisses her breasts, her neck, and she lies there soft and warm beneath him. There is no urgency then; she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to go to work.</p><p>
  <em>She has always wanted to go to work.</em>
</p><p>“You’re so good <em>to</em> me,” he adds, mouth by hers now.</p><p>“Goodness,” she sighs, opening her eyes, running her hand through his hair. “You really cannot stay over mid-week again.”</p><p>“Fuck it.”</p><p>“I have calls.”</p><p>“Skip them for once, what they gonna do?”</p><p>He is still inside her, is inching back and forth, as if his hips can’t help it. Tiny currents of pleasure spiral every time he does it.</p><p>“I don’t have time for seconds.” She insists, hands moving to his shoulders, fingers digging in.</p><p>"Which seconds matter the most?” He asks, kissing her between each sentence, “work ones or play ones?” his movements are more insistent now, and he knows she’s not going to say no because her eyes have fluttered closed in that wonderful way she has and her mouth is open and she’s gasping his name again.</p><p>She’d heard love could be like this, had never felt it herself. Always doubted its existence.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>When she mentions dinner with her daughters it is casual, over lunch in her office when they’re between meetings and going over their approach. Things are tighter these days, more thorough since the scare and Roman, for his worth, is on top of it all, though she spends a hell of a lot of time explaining finer details – she feels like his teacher at times, but he is an eager student in so many ways. Logan seems to take more and more days off, and the two of them are at the helm and he likes that, working with her. He thinks soon Kendall might share it with him, and that’s fine, he’s wrestled with that particular monster and reached a passive kind of calm acceptance over it all. Perhaps that is some level of maturity too.</p><p>“They’re both in town?”</p><p>“Well,” she is only half eating her salad, turning it over with her fork in a disinterested way. “Blair will be here for work at the end of the week, she texted me last night. So, I rang Maisie and I can get her flown in for the weekend and…” she shrugged.</p><p>“They staying with you?”</p><p>“No. I keep an apartment for them here, they use that, bought it when I sold our home.” He nods in understanding; having them in her home might be too close, which may seem odd to some but is understandable to him. “So,” she finally sighs, “dinner, Friday night? I wondered if maybe you could make some calls, try and get us into Per Se, use your name.”</p><p>He smirked at that, “For you, yes.”</p><p>“Don’t worry if not, I can book somewhere else.”</p><p>“It’s not an issue.”</p><p>She put her fork down, pushed the salad away, brushed her hand on a napkin. “And don’t worry if you’re not, you know, free.”</p><p>He sat back, studying her face, “Do you actually want me to come?”</p><p>“Yes,” she paused for a moment, “that is… well, yes.” She looked at him, “But I’m, well, to be honest, Roman, I’m a bit fucking nervous.”</p><p>“No shit.”</p><p>She smiled, especially when he placed his hand over hers. “I’m well versed in the ways of family fuckery, Gerri, as you know. It’ll be fine, we’ll get through it – it might go against the grain and work out alright. You tell them I’d be there?”</p><p>“I told Blair I would like for her to meet you, yes.”</p><p>“And? She said?”</p><p>“She said it was about time I mentioned the fact I was seeing you.”</p><p>“Okay. So, you hadn’t –,”</p><p>“I hadn’t told them, no. Not directly.”</p><p>“Right.” He wonders if his voice was slightly sharper than he intended, but if it was she ignored it and carried on.</p><p>“They knew, of course, I mean, the media this past year has been even more intrusive than usual. But just gossip, word-of-mouth, the odd picture of us.”</p><p>“And you didn’t tell them yourself because…?”</p><p>She struggled with that, she could come up with numerous excuses, tiny lies to ease it. “I’m scared of their reaction.” She admitted flatly.</p><p>“In what way?”</p><p>She leant back in her chair, rolling her eyes, slipping her glasses off. “Our ages, top of the list.” She twisted her mouth before she said the next statement, “Your reputation.” He made a funny noise in the back of his throat when she said that. “Their opinion matters.”</p><p>“I’m not dumb.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean… I mean of me. It shouldn’t, but it does. And Blair especially will be disparaging, I don’t want to be some laughing stock with them.”</p><p>“Christ,” she could be such a bitch at times. He got up from his seat, lunch clearly over, “forget it.”</p><p>“No, Roman, don’t be like that. I want you to come, I want you there. I’m just running through it in my head first.”</p><p>“You expect the worst. You don’t think it bothers me that you couldn’t tell them, you make out you’re the one on the moral high ground –,”</p><p>“I never do!”</p><p>“That I’m some fucking chump.”</p><p>“I hardly think your behaviour when your father found out was exemplary, but please, go on telling me what a terrible person I am.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that. But you’re embarrassed of me, of telling them about us. And that shouldn’t bother me because I’m some stupid fucking kid. Only it does. It kinda hurts, Gerri, to be honest.”</p><p>She twisted her mouth, felt her chest tighten at his words because he was right, and he sounded so very wounded by her.</p><p>“It’s been over a year,” he said solemnly. “Do you know what kind of achievement that is for me?”</p><p>She bit her lip; she did know, she knew very well that he kept women around for months and then moved on and if she were entirely honest she thought he’d be bored by now and would have moved on from her too. The fact he hadn’t was some kind of minor miracle.</p><p>“I don’t want to argue with you,” she somehow knew it would result in an argument, her daughters visiting always led to some questioning of self-worth and the inevitable guilt that came with being a mother. “Please, Roman. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them myself. But I do want you to meet them, as nervous as I am about it.”</p><p>“Alright.” He nodded.</p><p>“You won’t sulk?”</p><p>He shrugged, pressed his hands down on the back of a chair. “Will you wear that new black dress?”</p><p>She chuckled at that, surprised once again by how his mind shifts, “You can’t make lewd suggestions to me whilst we’re there. Look at me like you’re counting the hours until you can fuck me again.”</p><p>“Take away my fun.” He sighed dramatically; seemed to think about something, paused, turned around the paperweight on her desk and then pressed it into his hands. “They know it’s more than just, you know, fucking?”</p><p>“I hadn’t quite got to that level of the conversation, no.”</p><p>“They think I’m so casual boy toy then?” He put the weight down, “That’s fine, I can play that role.”</p><p>“Roman.” She sighed again as he headed to the door.</p><p>“Some kinda gigolo or something,” he waved his hand at her as he opened and closed the door without saying anything else.</p><p>*</p><p>She fell that afternoon. Felt foolish. Like some old woman who had lost control of her body. It was late in the day, ridiculously hot, and she’d slipped in the lobby of her building. That would have been nothing else but an embarrassing moment that she would have brushed off when the security guard helped her up; only she banged her knee pretty badly and ended up back in her car and heading to the hospital to have it checked.</p><p>It had swollen to around three times its size by the time she was laid up on a bed and for a long time she wondered about bothering him, but then lying there alone it seemed quite obvious she truly wanted him there, and secondly, she was being truly stubborn by not contacting him and third, well, he was her partner – wasn’t he?</p><p>He sounded groggy on the phone, he’d either been asleep or drinking and neither suggested he’d be in any state to come visit.</p><p>“I fell,” she said sheepishly.</p><p>“You fell?”</p><p>“Over. In my lobby. I’m in the hospital.”</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>She never even had the chance to end the call. He’s there before they bring her a cup of tea and looking concerned and bedraggled.</p><p>“You were sleeping?”</p><p>“Dozed on my couch,” he skulked around her bed until the nurse left, folded himself into one of the chairs. “You alright?”</p><p>“Feel like an idiot but… thanks for coming.”</p><p>“Course.”</p><p>“I don’t know why I called, there’s nothing you can do and they’ll just pack me off home with painkillers and ice. Sorry. For calling you out. Interrupting your night.”</p><p>“Jesus.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you ever just accept fucking help?”</p><p>She didn’t answer that, just stared at him with that slightly quizzical gaze, those blue penetrating eyes peeling him open as if exploring every inch of him from the inside out.</p><p>It hurts him all over again, as if it’s a bother for him to be there, as if she is an annoyance or he’s not mature enough to deal with the fact that she is human and can be hurt and therefore that he might have to be the support at times.</p><p>“Do you think me a moron or something?”</p><p>She is confused by that, frowns, her forehead creasing which he knows she hates, she’s told him so many times.</p><p>“Because I understand that you and I are in something here, I think I remember the word – relship or realship or something –,”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>She was pressing the nails of her left hand into the palm of her right, trying to remain calm and measured as she watched him struggle with his anger. His hurt. She wasn’t completely sure which it was.</p><p>“Well, I mean, the way you’re making me feel I probably should. But I’m not so fucking idiotic that I don’t know that when my girlfriend hurts herself I’m the one who she goes to, the one who offers support. If you were ill in any other way I’d be that person to, would I not? Or do you not think of me that way? Maybe you think this is just the easy, fun side of things and the more serious bits – like meeting your fucking daughters for example – is best avoided.”</p><p>“I don’t think any of those things, and I’m frankly angry with you for saying them.”</p><p>“Right,” he nodded, fiddling with the bedsheets she lay on. “Because heaven forbid I act a bit like an adult for once, that it’s not just you who knows everything. All seeing eye.”</p><p>She pressed her tongue into her cheek, resisted the urge to lose her temper and push back. “You’ve acted like one for a while,” she sagged back on the bed, her entire leg throbbing in pain at such a simple movement. “Roman… I never want to push; make you make promise things you don’t want to.”</p><p>“How would I be able to promise anything when you don’t give me the choice? There isn’t just you in this.”</p><p>She thought on that, unable to look at him, mulling over the meaning behind his words. Because maybe she could concede that he had a point; as much as she liked to enjoy the fact she was (on paper) the more knowledgeable, experienced one when it came to relationships; maybe she could admit that at times she was heavy-handed, closed-off, controlling?</p><p>“Alright.” She finally said, her thumb nail still digging into the fleshy part of her palm. “Then perhaps I’m the one who is scared of making commitments to things…” She licked her lips, breathed deeply; some things she kept locked away, it was often easier that way, pretending they didn’t exist, numbing her heart.</p><p>Only her heart wasn’t numb to him. No matter if she wanted to make it so; even when he’d hurt her, embarrassed her, and she’d done what she always did – took the feelings, locked them in a box, pushed them away – her heart wouldn’t numb.</p><p>“You know,” she said, pressing her hand into her hair, “marriage has these fucking boring side effects, like having to listen to the other complain about their day, droning on about workmates you don’t know. And their ailments and their annoyances. Because you’re the closest person to them so of course they share all of their grievances with you. All of their complaints. And they take their bad days out on you, or take you for granted, or forget you need attention too. We don’t have that, we have fun and do all the nice bits of a relationship, because there are still boundaries between us – our own homes, our own friends and time apart. I don’t want to drag you into the dullness of things because…” she stopped then, stared at him; it would make her weak to admit it, or scare him off.</p><p>“Because?” He prompted, wide-eyed and searching her. Then he closed his eyes, shook his head in recognition, “Oh, you think I’ll get bored and move on. We’re still fucking there, aren’t we? Like I’m Peter Pan and unable to grow up and do the real stuff.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that.”</p><p>“I don’t always need you to be the one in charge, the sensible one who holds it together. I can be that person, you know, I am capable of you turning to me every now and then. Whether it’s over a smashed-up leg or your worries about the company or even your feelings over your daughters.”</p><p>“I do open up to you, more than anyone. Christ, I can’t win with this.” She closed her eyes, the thrumming in her knee spreading out into every nerve-ending; it made her feel sick and dizzy. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now, can we just… pause, for a while. Come back to it when I don’t feel like my fucking head is going to explode?”</p><p>He nodded slowly, glanced down at the floor, “Alright,” then stood up, leaning over the bed, pressing his hand to her hair and bending to kiss her forehead. “I love you,” he said softly, saw her lips twitch slightly. “So, I’m going to make a fuss now about getting your pain medication fixed up so I can take you home and let you sleep in your own bed.”</p><p>“I feel nauseous,” she admitted, opening her eyes, his face close to hers. “I didn’t eat and the medication and…”</p><p>“Then I’ll get food, you want it here or, I’ll see how long until we can leave and then it’ll be better to eat at home, at least.”</p><p>*</p><p>He carries her to bed, undresses her as she sits up, fetches the things she asks for so she can remove her make-up and comb her hair – grimacing every time she moves and her knee twinges and throbs.</p><p>“You wanna sue the marble in the lobby,” he jokes as he brings her salad.</p><p>“My own stupidity, was distracted and not paying attention and my feet ached from heels in this heat.”</p><p>“Summer in the city. I was hoping we’d get away again, a long weekend somewhere, none of my family around this time.”</p><p>“It went surprising well. Don’t stand there eating, sit down.”</p><p>“Didn’t want to jostle your leg.”</p><p>“Well, you’re going to be sleeping there so… Aren’t you? Are you staying?”</p><p>“I thought I could sleep in another room, but yeah, not going to leave you to fend for yourself.”</p><p>“What a burden.”</p><p>He sighed heavily, putting his bowl on the side, “I don’t think that.”</p><p>“I meant it as a joke.” She reached for the bottle of water he’d brought her, took a long drink. “Look, I’m a bit dozy with the pills. But, maybe I can be big enough and brave enough to concede that I hadn’t realised how intertwined our lives really were.”</p><p>“You spent three fucking days entertaining my family, you planned that… Jesus, Gerri, nobody has ever done that for me, not even close.”</p><p>“Yes, but that was still, it’s a fun thing isn’t it? Or should be, celebrating your birthday. This,” she indicated her leg, “not so fun.”</p><p>“Sure, hours with Logan Roy, bundle of fucking laughs.” She snorted at that and he felt his heart soften. “Look, you’re telling me if I got ill, like, something serious, you wouldn’t be there?”</p><p>That made her think of Baird, of going through something like that all over again, or worse, of Roman having to do that for her. The reality of her aging and being a burden, a drain on his life, was all too real to her. No matter how much you loved someone.</p><p>“Of course I’d be there,” she said. “But I don’t want to make assumptions as to how deep we are into this.”</p><p>“Balls deep in it!” He proclaimed, “Some shit happens I’m the one who’s there for you, whatever. I kinda thought you felt the same.”</p><p>“You know I do.” She said without stopping to think.</p><p>“Then stop fucking me about with this, re-drawing our lines every few weeks.”</p><p>She smirked at that, though she was exhausted and her head was spinning. “I’m too tired to do this now,” she said softly, sinking into her pillows. “I’m not shirking the conversation; I just want to be clear-headed for it.”</p><p>“Alright, we shelve it for a few days.” He took the half-eaten salad from her lap. “But you are fucking shirking the conversation, for the second time today, and you know what Gerri, it pisses me off.”</p><p>“Rome –,”</p><p>“No going into work tomorrow.” He stated, as if she might have had a choice. “A day working from home, it’s doable and understandable and you rest your leg.”</p><p>“You being bossy is kind of turning me on, complete role-reversal.” She said, closing her eyes, exhaustion taking away conscious thought.</p><p>“Store that for our next role-play session, me in charge.”</p><p>“Some change of pace,” she said, and despite the fact she was half asleep there was that cutting steel to her voice that made him grin.</p><p>He kissed her again, sat with her until she fell asleep and then he moved himself to her couch. Slept there under a blanket.</p><p>*</p><p>She’s always so collected and together that it comes as a shock to see her nervous; doing her best to hold it together in the back of the car, but he’s spent more than enough time alone in her company now – still something of a revelation – to read her well. The telling sign of her twisting the ring on her finger, her eyes flitting back and forth between staring at her dress and out of the window at passing traffic. Her shawl slips on her arm and he leans across, presses a kiss to her bare shoulder beside the strap of her dress.</p><p>“You look stunning,” he says in a bid to be reassuring, brushes his finger where her hair curves up where she’s pinned it at the back, the pearls she’s wearing resting against her pale skin. “You think I’ll pass inspection?” earns him a small smile and she looks at him then, gives the slightest nod. “Any topics I have to leave alone?”</p><p>She shrugs, “Say what you like, I’m not here to police you. I can tell you Blair will scowl whenever I speak, Maisie will smile politely and giggle and I will undoubtedly drink too much.”</p><p>“Alright, should be fun.” He scooted over to the other side of the car, digging a small gift bag from the door. “Almost forgot. A little gift, to cheer you up before we go in.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Two gifts, actually, for if you don’t like one of them.”</p><p>“That’s silly,” she said, smiling at him as she opened the bag. In a box, the daintiest pin, a gold Martini glass covered in diamonds, complete with emerald olive. “Stunningly cute,” she proclaimed as she attached it to her shawl. The second gift, a card, a key card.</p><p>“The equivalent these days of giving you the key to my apartment.” He said, the slightest hint of anxiousness to his tone; he was never a hundred-percent about how Gerri would view things. “The code is in the bag too, try and learn it though, hey.”</p><p>“Roman –,”</p><p>He held his hands up to stop her, “You don’t have to give me yours, it’s okay. Just a gesture from me, considering our conversation the other day. And I kinda have this little fantasy that one day I might come home from work and you’ll be dressed up as French Maid or something in my kitchen. Let me fuck you on the counter.”</p><p>“A French Maid?” She scoffed, but leant in to kiss him. “Thank you, both gifts are extremely thoughtful.”</p><p>He pressed his thumb against her bottom lip, smoothed the red of her lipstick even again as the car came to a halt. She raised her eyebrows, wondered if he could feel the anxiety in her chest as her heart sped up.</p><p>“So, do I carry you inside? Or too much of a statement, maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>He supported her as they were led through the restaurant, her still limping on one leg, the maître D babbling on to Roman as he personally escorted them to their table. Her daughters rose as they got close, and she smiled as warmly as she could – because despite everything it really was particularly lovely to see the two of them together again and looking so very beautiful.</p><p>“Mom, how’s the knee?” Maisie said as Gerri quickly slipped into her seat and she leant over to kiss her cheek. Blair came around the table and did the same and Roman stood and watched feeling a bit like an intruder when he saw the three of them together.</p><p>She was right, Maisie had a head full of blonde curls that bobbed as she moved, and she smiled naturally and easily, fixing Roman with a full-on grin that made her nose wrinkle and her chin rise. She was cute.</p><p>“So, I’m Maisie,” she said, coming around the table to Roman. He stuck his hand out, smiled in his most charming, off-putting way.</p><p>“Roman Roy, really good to finally meet you.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me mom has been filling your head with stories about us, because we won’t believe you.” She laughed, kissing his cheek then moving to sit, she took the seat to the right of Gerri, leaving him the one on her left.</p><p>“And you’re Blair,” he said, shaking her hand.</p><p>She was beautiful. Gerri’s eyes, tall, thin – too thin perhaps – straight blonde hair that was looped into some clip at the back of her neck.</p><p>“And you’re Roman,” she said, a sharp ice of a voice, “we’ve kinda followed your<em> exploits </em>on the news for years.”</p><p>“Yikes, ‘exploits’,” he shrugged, “guess you already know all my filthy secrets then.”</p><p>He sat last, glancing to Gerri as he did so, giving her a reassuring smile.</p><p>“You alright there, enough room to rest your leg?”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>“You need to raise it, mom? We could try and get something?” Maisie said, glancing around.</p><p>“It’s fine, if it aches, I’ll say.”</p><p>“You slipped in the lobby?” Blair sounded incredulous, opening her menu but still staring at Gerri. “Were you drunk?”</p><p>“Hardly, it was early evening, I’d just left the office. Not even sure how it happened, wasn’t concentrating or something. And it was so hot that day.”</p><p>Blair’s eyebrows rose, “Were you distracted?” She looked pointedly at Roman.</p><p>“I wasn’t, other than thinking about work, perhaps.”</p><p>“Should we order wine?” Maisie interrupted, “Red, mom?” She turned her attention to Roman, “Or is it true you just bathe in Champagne?”</p><p>“Only once a week,” he hoped that came off in the light-hearted manner he intended; it wasn’t like him to second-guess himself. “But yes, I’ll order some Champagne. But whatever you want,” it also wasn’t like him to feel unsure of himself in situations like this, he had always been the confident one, he hoped the alcohol would loosen his tongue. “We should order the caviar too whilst we decide, it’s outstanding.”</p><p>“So, you’re a regular here, Roman?” Blair asked, sipping her water.</p><p>“We’ve been a few times together,” he said indicating Gerri, “but my father is a real fan.”</p><p>“Where do you usually take my mom then,” Maisie asked, leaning forward, her voice full of energy. “You two have been dating for a while now?”</p><p>“Oh goodness, are we going to have to do all of this?” Gerri said, grateful for the arrival of the Champagne.</p><p>“Mom, you brought your ‘boyfriend’ to dinner, you’ve never done that, ever, in all the time Dad’s been gone. Damn right we’re going to quiz him.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, lifting her Champagne glass to her mouth.</p><p>“We seem to eat a lot of Asian food,” he said, looking to her for agreement, “I prefer little places really, where nobody notices you, too many socialites here who know your face and want the gossip. Too many people eager to snap and sell.”</p><p>“You’re not a fan of being the centre of attention?” Blair smirked, “funny, I thought I’d heard it was the opposite of that.”</p><p>He struggled with that; she was as sharp as Gerri; he could see he was going to have to watch his step there. She raised her eyebrows in the same way too and he was unsure if she was amused by him or simply being judgemental.</p><p>“People think because you have money it gives them licence to write what they want, regardless of truth. I guess it’s open season with my family most of the time.”</p><p>“Certainly give them enough ammunition.” Blair noted. “But then, we know all about how low the Roys can go, we grew up with it.”</p><p>“Blair, really,” Gerri chided.</p><p>“It’s alright, don’t mind the odd pot-shot,” Roman said, “But it’s not really fair on your mother, neither, she didn’t sign up for public scrutiny.”</p><p>“I guess that’s exactly what she signed up for when she started working for them, and indeed in sleeping with a man some twenty years younger.”</p><p>“Okay,” Roman tried to keep his voice light, “not sure if it’s really the age thing though, or the fact I’m a dastardly Roy.”</p><p>“Don’t mock me.”</p><p>“I really wasn’t.” He felt Gerri bristle beside him. “But I don’t particularly want to dwell on who they are, or what I’ve done in the past. We all have pasts; we’ve all been young. Even you must have made the odd mistake.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Maisie said, “you see, my sister here is perfect.” She held onto Blair’s arm. “Never a foot out of place in every aspect of her life.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Blair scolded. “I think you’re the first one of mom’s lovers we’ve met,” she said quickly, turning her attention to Gerri. “And there’s been a few since Dad, right mom?”</p><p>“Are we going to play this game all night? Can’t we talk about the weather for a while or work or something a little less controversial. Just pass the time together.”</p><p>“Work. Okay. So, how about you perjuring yourself in DC for them, that kind of work, mom?”</p><p>“Blair.”</p><p>“Is that fair? Hey, Roman, her doing that at her age, risking jail time for pieces of shit in the Roy household –,”</p><p>“Blair!” Gerri snapped. “Don’t. I make my own decisions in that regard. I’m not some senile old witch.”</p><p>“Who knows who the fuck you are most of the time,” Blair threw her napkin to the table, “Excuse me whilst I find the bathroom.”</p><p>“I best go after her,” Maisie said apologetically as she followed her sister.</p><p>“Fuuucccck.” Roman breathed. “So, I kind of understand now why you didn’t want me to come.”</p><p>“I <em>did</em> want you to come, I just didn’t want this.”</p><p>“You never thought to tell me your daughter hates my family, and I guess the company you work for too?”</p><p>She leant back in her chair, fiddling with her Champagne glass. “I think she blames it for too many things in her life – absent mother, absent father to some degree. Being sent away to school and then Baird’s illness.”</p><p>“That’s the company’s fault?”</p><p>“I don’t know, stress or something, I think maybe she thinks… who knows. We’ve been over it too many times over the years.” She took a long drink. “It certainly helped get her to where she is now, money, status. She conveniently forgets that.”</p><p>“Always like this between you, snipping? I mean, no judgement because you know the fucking score with me. Just wondered.”</p><p>“Sometimes we can be kinder.” It felt odd, letting him in to all this, letting him see the truth of who she was beyond the office and the silk dresses and company soirees. Like opening up the messy box of her life and it all come spilling out for him to see. “I think she judges me,” she glanced up as they returned, cutting off what she was going to say.</p><p>He briefly pressed his hand over her fingers as they retook their seats, saw Blair watch the action.</p><p>“My sister wants to apologise for being impolite,” Maisie said, “regardless of her views, we were raised better than that.”</p><p>“I’m used to my family being kicked and slammed, go right ahead. But your mother is kind of important to me.”</p><p>“Roman, you don’t need,” Gerri started.</p><p>“I do need,” he shot her an anxious look then back to her daughters, fixing his gaze on Blair. “She’s important to me, don’t drag her into the shitshow that is my family. She’s better than all of them.”</p><p>Blair smiled, the kind of half-smile that Gerri would give when she amused by him but knew she shouldn’t be. “How long have you two been <em>together</em>?”</p><p>Roman took it in the spirit in which it was intended, a new jump-off point. “Well, I guess, officially if we go by when we…” he stopped himself, “thirteen months. Longer if you count flirting. Shorter if you count the temporary break.”</p><p>“Yes!” Maisie said waggling her finger at him, “my friend told me this was on the grapevine, you dumped her by text!”</p><p>“Oh Christ,” Gerri groaned, covering her face, “my daughters are not supposed to know this kind of information about me. Nobody is, really. This is why I keep things private.”</p><p>“Not my finest moment, admittedly.” He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head.</p><p>“How did this all get started though, that’s what I want to know?” Maisie probed. “You respond to mom’s dating ad or something?”</p><p>“You make me out like some kind of cougar on the prowl!” She exclaimed.</p><p>“We played at your house as little kids,” Blair interrupted, “I don’t remember you, only your name, and we were too little to join the Roy kids’ game.”</p><p>“I was a total ass as a teenager to be fair. Not much changed actually, for quite a while.”</p><p>“That’s why it was weird, you understand, when we heard you were… <em>sleeping</em> with our mom.” She said the last line as it pained her, that or disgusted her. “Because, not being rude here, but you’re closer to our age than hers.”</p><p>“You think attraction is based on age?” He asked in return; and Gerri wondered all over again just when he’d chosen to step over into adulthood.</p><p>“No. I don’t. But I mean, you’d known each other for a while, right? Years. So you’d already got the measure of what a complete and utter bitch she can be.”</p><p>“It’s the thing I liked the most,” he responded deadpan.</p><p>“Things changed.” Gerri interrupted. She didn’t want this, though she knew it would come. She’d hoped they would somehow skip the awkward bits, eat dinner, drink wine, babble about inconsequential things and then go home – her relationship with them as distant and stoic as it had been for years.</p><p>“The thing is we were in Japan working, and we just got to know each other in a different way,” she said; it wasn’t in her nature to offer up information without really needing to and she surprised herself by doing so.</p><p>“Not sex!” He suddenly added and Maisie giggled. “I don’t want you to think we were, then, there. Not that we don’t now, like, this is a perfectly normal, healthy…”</p><p>“Christ alive,” Gerri rolled her eyes. “This is horrendous. I’d rather be back on the stand in DC.”</p><p>“Nobody wants to think of their mother having sex, Roman,” Maisie teased.</p><p>“Especially not when the guy is like a toy boy.” Blair grimaced.</p><p>Gerri closed her eyes, shame creeping over her skin. “It’s rare I wish for the ground to swallow me whole, and believe me I’ve sat through a hell of a lot of awkward meetings.”</p><p>“Yeah. Right,” he felt his cheeks warm and realised what an incompetent idiot he was coming across as. “I just want to make the point that I’m usually better at the whole social scene, better than I’m coming across right now.”</p><p>Blair laughed, she actually laughed. “Don’t people, I mean your friends mom, Laura and Charlie for a start. Dad’s friends. Are they like, are they okay with this?”</p><p>Gerri sighed, “He’s met them all, it was all fine.”</p><p>“Fine…?” Blair queried, a knowing smile on her face. “I can’t quite picture the scene.”</p><p>“You took him to the Easter ball,” Maisie said, “we still get the newsletter, saw a few pictures of you there.”</p><p>“And they don’t think it’s odd, you dating someone this much younger?”</p><p>“If they do, they know better than to say.” Gerri grumbled, finding her voice. “Honestly, Blair, you have to let that go. The age thing. There’s more to it, us, than that.”</p><p>Roman smirked, felt an element of pride in his chest at the use of ‘us’, despite the heaviness that had lingered with him for days now, that doubt over her feelings, her belief in him to be more than just a lover.</p><p>“What about your friends, Roman?” Maisie asked.</p><p>“I don’t have any.” He finished his Champagne, signalled the waiter to order more.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Gerri said.</p><p>“It is true, there’s people I might hang out with, but really anyone important enough for me to bother with their opinion?” He shrugged. “My life has been fairly contained for the last ten years, it’s pretty much my family and the workplace.”</p><p>“Blair will get that,” Maisie said, “she’s a workaholic.”</p><p>“Like your mom?”</p><p>“No,” Blair said.</p><p>“<em>Just</em> like mom!” Maisie added. “Not even time for a boyfriend, or girlfriend if that’s what you choose.”</p><p>“I’ve had boyfriends,” Blair stressed.</p><p>“I’ve had both!” Maisie teased and Gerri sat back in her chair, biting her lip as she suppressed a smile.</p><p>“And which are you on now?” Roman asked, then regretted it when the others laughed. “Hey, doesn’t bother me.”</p><p>“A boy, presently.”</p><p>“Have you seen this guy, mom?” Blair said, “She shown you a picture?” There was a liveliness in her voice that hadn’t been evident before; Roman wondered if it was the alcohol going to her head.</p><p>“I didn’t even know about him.”</p><p>“It’s been like a month,” Maisie said, slipping her phone from her bag and sliding it across the table. “His name is Artez. He’s working at some media company.”</p><p>“He fetches the fucking coffee!” Blair teased.</p><p>“My, my, he’s quite handsome,” Gerri admitted, pushing the phone in front of Roman.</p><p>“Fuck, he could be a model, can’t you get him into something, can’t we? Instead of fetching coffee.”</p><p>“We don’t do that,” Blair said. “We don’t really want to rely on you lot.”</p><p>“Ah,” he nodded, “okay. I guess.”</p><p>The conversation lulled momentarily as their first course was served and Roman ordered more wine, listened to them catch up on each other’s work news, sharing anecdotes, the occasional laughter over a distant family member or shared acquaintance.</p><p>“It’s not such a bad idea,” he finally added, cutting into their stunted chat. “Your boyfriend, Maisie, I mean, it doesn’t have to be anything major. A little push in the right direction can just –,”</p><p>“Is this to impress us?” Blair said, cutting into her scallops. “Like big money, big ideas, big personality.”</p><p>He laughed at that, “I can be a funny guy, not tonight clearly because I feel like my balls are being pinned to the floor.”</p><p>Maisie giggled, covering her mouth.</p><p>“That’s what you get going out with three Kellman women,” Gerri touched his thigh beneath the table, tapping her hand against it. “You aren’t doing too badly, all things considered.”</p><p>“Well, I know I’m never going to be,” he put his fork down, sipping his wine whilst simultaneously thinking it was about time he ordered something a little more potent. “I know in the grand scheme of things I mean very little.”</p><p>“Are you talking about in life?” Maisie said. “That’s awfully prolific for this point on a Friday night.”</p><p>“I meant more in terms of your mother’s life,” he felt Gerri’s head whip towards him, her eyes penetrating. “I’m like some tiny little speck on the landscape really.”</p><p>“Oh?” Maisie pressed her chin into her hands as she watched him, giving him her full attention. She was bright, more artistic and freer than her sister; Gerri had often wondered on that – was it purely down to personality, was it down to the fact she’d sent her to a different school? Been easier, softer with the second child? That Baird had been home more and there to coddle her? Blair had spent years taking care of herself, finding her own personality, her own voice, having to look for a mother figure in staff members or the older girls.</p><p>How much was she to blame for the distance in her now? That detached personality that reminded her so very much of herself? Struggling to find a boyfriend because it was too hard to open up and truly relax and just be in the moment.</p><p>“What do you mean?” She asked, her elbow brushing Roman’s on the table.</p><p>“I’m not gonna be like, look I know this is awkward for you two – you said, first guy you’ve met since your father passed, I get that it’s weird. And then it’s me and well, I’m a bit of a asshole at the best of times. But I’m never going to measure up to him, be anything close to what your mother and he shared…” he paused at the intensity of Blair’s eyes on him, feeling very much like he’d just made a huge mistake. “I sounded like a dick then, didn’t I?”</p><p>“It’s no big deal,” Maisie laughed, “you sounded kinda sweet. Deluded, perhaps.”</p><p>Blair smirked, folded her arms. “A speck?”</p><p>“Shit. Did I say that? How fucking embarrassing.” He downed his champagne. “A well-timed bathroom break, I think.” He pushed his chair back, rested his hand briefly on Gerri’s shoulder, “Won’t be long.”</p><p>The three of them watched him leave, and then Gerri drank what was left in her glass, preparing for the inevitable drop when it came.</p><p>“So, go on then, hit me with whatever bullshit comment you want to make.”</p><p>“Mom…” Blair leant forward; hands folded on top of the table. “What are you thinking?”</p><p>Gerri sighed, the pain from her knee shooting up into her thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t feel like you have to pass judgement.”</p><p>“Oh, but you taught me how to do it so well.”</p><p>Maisie clicked her tongue in her mouth, “Don’t be bitches to each other.”</p><p>“Come on, you can’t think this is okay. He’s like, our age!”</p><p>Maisie rolled her eyes, sliding her finger around the rim of her glass, “I guess he does seem kinda young.”</p><p>“You two have no right to make such assertions.”</p><p>“We’re your daughters, mother, really. Who else has the right to say something?” Blair snapped, and Gerri felt herself weaken under their gaze, her cheeks warming with shame. “Mom, really, I mean, you look deluded.”</p><p>“Deluded? Fuck, Blair, that’s a bit much. I’m perfectly in my right mind. I’m not some prepubescent schoolgirl being swept along.”</p><p>“No. Worse. You’re an older woman clearly getting a lot of dick action and not able to see how that looks to the rest of the world.”</p><p>It wasn’t often she was knocked sideways by people, comments could come quickly and sting but she was always ready for them, always had a retort. Except this time.</p><p>“Christ, Blair, that was harsh.” Maisie said softly, her hand reaching to touch Gerri’s on the table. “Look mom, we just want to make sure you’re being sensible, that you know what you’re doing. You know. He’s a risk, isn’t he? Personally and professionally?”</p><p>Gerri swallowed, licked her lips, lifting her eyes finally to meet both of her daughters’. “One I’m willing to take.”</p><p>“And you don’t care,” Blair said, “after all you sacrificed, all you made us sacrifice, on the alter of your sacred career – that he could threaten that? End up making you look some old fool?”</p><p>She didn’t answer that. Roman was winding through the tables on his way back, and besides, she couldn’t find the words to explain.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>She is silent in the car and that worries him more on the way home than it did on the journey to the restaurant; he fears he tried too hard, came across as lightweight and foolish. But he’s never been good at selling himself, he either goes over the top or underplays it and falls flat, coming across as uninterested and pathetic. It takes time to really get to know him, he knows she appreciates that.</p><p>She is leaning against his arm though, her head on his shoulder, and he takes some comfort in that, breathing in the scent of her hair and the feel of her pressed into his jacket.</p><p>“You okay?” He whispers, a question he doesn’t want to ask because he knows very well she isn’t and the reason as to why makes him feel a little afraid. It took a few choice words from his father for him to really hurt her, to abandon her. What if her daughters were pressing her to do the same?</p><p>Gerri gave the shortest of nods, her could feel her hair brush his chin. She pressed her hand to his leg, squeezing his thigh, “I’m going to go home alone, not because of you,” she reassured him, tried her best to. “But I just need some time alone, to think.”</p><p>“Not going to kick me to the kerb, are you?” He is half joking, only his voice cracks and that makes her lift her head up, moving her face close to his as she scrutinises his expression.</p><p>“No.” She said sincerely, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. “Never.” She leant in and kissed his mouth. “I just need to be alone tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Brunch?”</p><p>“Maybe. See how I feel.”</p><p>He nodded, despondent, “Alright. Call though, you know, if you need anything. Doesn’t matter the time.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>“Are you hurting? I don’t want that.”</p><p>“Only my battered leg,” she said, kissing him again. “The rest I’m used to.”</p><p>He helped her inside and to the elevator, she assured him she’d be fine after that, she could get down her hallway. Only when she’s alone and silent she feels bad for making him leave, wishes he was climbing into bed next to her, that his humour and their whispered conversations in the dark were there to shift her mind away from the few brief comments that were causing her so much concern.</p><p>Was she deluded? Really a subject of ridicule in the eyes of her peers?</p><p>It seemed such a short-sighted, pedestrian view. To suggest their relationship was somehow lacking or less than because of their age difference. Part of her angered at the thought, that they were still so far behind in their views that she couldn’t genuinely care for a younger man, or that by dating him she was somehow weakening herself, lowering her standards, making herself look stupid after years of carefully stepping around landmines and crafting her way to the top.</p><p>She must have drifted off at one point, but then she wakes with a throbbing in her leg and realises she’s slipped on the pillows and is at an odd angle.</p><p>It takes her a few attempts to manoeuvre out of the bed, and even then she’s gripping whatever she passes to keep herself upright. In the kitchen takes painkillers, tries to ease out the cramp in her thigh.</p><p>It’s after two and she feels apprehensive as she turns her phone over and hastily taps out a message.</p><p><strong><em>&gt;Are you awake?</em></strong> Her eyes are fuzzy as she stares at the bright light of the screen. She assumed he would have been sleeping yet watched the icon and then the indicator he was typing.</p><p>
  <strong>&gt;No. Sleeping soundly. Hot girl wrapped around me.</strong>
</p><p>She rolled her eyes at that, finished her glass of water and headed back into her bedroom tentatively pulling a long dress over her head and finding a pair of flat shoes. She messily scooped her hair up into a clip and headed back to the kitchen, collecting her phone from the side.</p><p><strong>&gt;Not jealous, are you? </strong>She read and was smiling as she typed a response.</p><p><strong><em>&gt;You wouldn’t do it because you know I love you and it would break my heart</em></strong>.</p><p>It was unlike her to type something so clearly sentimental, to reveal her emotions – no games, no fucking about or trickery. He texts her back with three red hearts, it makes her smile and she grips onto her phone as she heads to the elevator, down to the lobby, out in the street. No doorman at this ridiculous hour but she hails a cab with little issue and gives Roman’s address.</p><p>Traffic is light and they’re pulling up before she really settles or lets her brain consider her actions. She uses the key card he gave her, nervous at first, a fleeting consideration that this might be one of his silly little jokes and she was going to set some alarm off. But no, it works, and she’s stepping off his elevator and passing that long wall of ridiculous mirrored panels, trying not to focus on how frumpy and dishevelled she looks.</p><p>She considers knocking, but there’s the card, so she lets herself in; kicks her shoes off by the door, leaves her bag on the couch in the lounge.</p><p>His apartment had surprised her when she’d first visited, so tastefully done, the artwork chosen with care. She’s not sure what she expected – maybe something of a boy’s den, some pimped out place. But it is tasteful, gorgeous even.</p><p>And so it makes her stop and pause when she’s coming down the hallway to his bedroom and there, on the side table, are pictures of her. They must be new because she’d stayed over only a couple of weeks before and they certainly weren’t there then. There are four frames so far and she glances at each one; a holiday picture in that ridiculous hammock, her laughing, one of the two of them together, and one that she’s never seen before – her asleep. She should be annoyed with him for taking it, only it’s such a soft and gentle thing to do it reminds her how much there is to him that people don’t see, beyond the façade, that caring tender man.</p><p>She tiptoes through to his bedroom, the faint light of his phone in the darkness as she walks in and he looks up – surprised, happy.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, putting his phone down, “you never replied. Figured you’d gone to sleep.”</p><p>“Wanted to do it in person,” she shrugged, standing at the side of his overly large bed, drawing her dress up her body and over her head. “Where’s the hot girl?”</p><p>“Oh, fancied a threesome did you.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t get a look in if we had threesome,” she teased.</p><p>He threw back the corner of the bedsheets and she sat down gingerly, lifting her leg up slowly moving closer, kissing him quickly. “I didn’t wake you, texting?”</p><p>“I was only half asleep.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be. This is better.”</p><p>She inched closer to him, he moved to accommodate her, so she could press her head against his upper chest and yet keep her leg stretched out straight.</p><p>“I needed some comfort,” she said softly.</p><p>“Am I good at that?”</p><p>“Truthfully? Much better than expected.”</p><p>He smirked, kissed her head, and for a long time she lay silently against him, eyes closed; it made him feel shaky, for that moment he was the one who was there to support her and offer comfort and, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he was equipped to do so. Gerri knew everything, she was the oracle, his point of reference – for him to try and offer her some words of encouragement or something to soothe her seemed so far off the mark in terms of his life experience. But then he’d stood his ground only a few days earlier, had proclaimed he was all in, was there for the good and the bad. That meant being a backbone, it meant a partnership, not her doing all of the heavy lifting.</p><p>“I feel like things were said when I left the table,” he said. “Which were perhaps none too complimentary.” He brushed his fingers through her hair, shifting it from her forehead where it had fallen as she laid. “That’s fine, you know, if it’s about me being a total fuck-up, I’m used to that, being told I’m a useless moron. You can hit me with it. If that’s what they think.”</p><p>“You’re not though,” she held her hand up until he took hold of it, brought it to her mouth and kissed the back of his. “You like to maybe play that game every now and then, but it’s not you, not the real you.”</p><p>“But they think…?”</p><p>“They? I think they but maybe more Blair…” she settled his hand against her chest, rubbed his wrist with her thumb. “…think that I am deluded.”</p><p>“Oh.” His voice was flat, resigned.</p><p>“That I was clearly getting a lot of… well, action, I’ll say, and that was making me do ridiculous things, making me look ridiculous.”</p><p>“Fuck. That’s fucking killer, I mean, that’s Shiv level in terms of knife in the gut.”</p><p>She smirked at that, “Yeah, she’s good. I mean, I should be proud, I taught her all she knows. She heard me saying some choice words of cruelty to Baird through the years. You do at times with the people you love, you argue, you say things you don’t mean. That’s the thing when you’re close to someone, when you feel like you might own them in some way – you want to control their behaviour to fit in with what you want. It doesn’t work though, as you know whenever Logan tries to control you.”</p><p>He doesn’t bite at that, doesn’t want to bring his own fucked-up mess into tonight’s conversation. He feels she’s opening up, or will do, and he’s on the verge of really getting inside Gerri Kellman’s head and he’s very aware that he doesn’t want to do one tiny thing to ruin that. Not a word, not a breath out of place that would make her retreat, close up on him.</p><p>“I put my foot in it,” he said softly, “with the Baird stuff. I feel like there’s shit there I’m in the dark on, which is fine, I mean that’s your stuff, your life. I just sense, with your daughters and all, that there’s something there.”</p><p>She sighed heavily, he could feel her breath against his fingers as she kissed them again, stroked his fingertips across her lips and seemed to hum against them as she contemplated her words. “There are things I don’t speak about,” she finally said. “Not because I don’t want you to know, but because it seems fruitless to bring them up and dwell on the past.”</p><p>He brought his other arm around her, stroked his thumb in circles against her bare arm, knowing enough to remain still and silent as he did so.</p><p>“I’m not that kind of person,” she continued, “who digs things up, I like to keep moving forward – there’s always another challenge.” She sighed, closed her eyes momentarily. “I’m not saying Blair and I ever had an easy relationship, because we didn’t. There’s too many things… too many mistakes, on my part. I shouldn’t have had children.”</p><p>“Don’t say that. You’re hardly as fucked up as my mother.”</p><p>“Am I not?” She shifted her head, and he slipped his fingers into her hair, entertaining himself by spreading the strands out across his chest. “When Baird proposed we discussed certain things, children being one of them, and I made him a promise – a deal, if you like – that I would have one child with him. Does that sound ridiculously cold?”</p><p>“No, it sounds like a business deal, which doesn’t shock me in the least considering who you both worked for.”</p><p>“Yes, well. It seemed a good idea, but then time goes on, you end up getting talked into a second child, a hoped-for son, and it’s another girl and well…” she shrugged. “Marriage is an odd business, the concessions you make, the things you both have to accept and put up with because you love each other, and you made a promise. And once you’re years into it and there’s children you can’t just walk away when it gets too hard. It involves more than just the two of you.” She sighed again, groaned, “I need to move. My knee aches.”</p><p>He pressed his hands against her shoulders, lifted and moved her body, piling pillows behind her and tucking one up beneath her knee.</p><p>“Better?”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>He propped himself beside her, on his side facing her.</p><p>“You know Baird was ill,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze at first but then looking at him when he gave the slightest of nods. “Degenerative. The last few years of his life were pretty awful,” her voice sounded different, distant, heavy, deeper than usual. “The girls were grown up by then, Maisie away at University, Blair already working, mostly in Washington. We had this team of nurses with us for a long time, and I had an awful dichotomy between Waystar and home. Securing the things Logan wanted, always pushing for more, determined to. Travelling all over the world, playing this high-powered bitch who could achieve anything, take anyone out.” She said, and there was an energy to her voice he recognised. “And then home, the odd hours I kept when Baird was lucid and remembered who I was and those where he… well, those where he didn’t. And he would shout and insult me, or worse, cry, because he was scared. Because nothing seemed familiar.”</p><p>Roman pressed his hand against her arm, squeezed it gently. It was hard to imagine this was ever part of her life; he can’t remember those years, so caught up in his own bullshit selfishness. Trying to make it in LA, trying to be some big shot on a film set. Achieving nothing of note.</p><p>“I kept the worst of it from them because they both adored him,” she said, interrupting his musings, “and they didn’t really need to see their father like that. But they’d visit, they’d see bits and pieces. Blair blamed me; thought I was more interested in being out at work than being there with her father.”</p><p>“That’s not really fair.”</p><p>“Perhaps not,” she swallowed, turned her head slightly so she was looking at him in the faint light of his room.</p><p>Her eyes looked watery and he slid his hand to her waist, trying to hold her tighter without imposing too much; he didn’t want her to stop, wanted to hear it all and understand that little bit more about what made Gerri who she was. He sensed this was one of those moments he’d remember, like finding a key to a lock, waiting for the answer to hit him so he understood all of life’s secrets. All of her secrets. More than knowing her body or the food she liked to eat or how she liked her Martini, knowing her, who she truly was.</p><p>“When he died, Roman… Christ, I’ve never told anyone this, never even really allowed myself to think it… and that scares me, to tell you. To admit it.” She licked her lips, inhaled sharply as she tried to get her brain to catch up with her mouth. “I was relieved.” She said it quickly, as if that might make it easier.</p><p>He scrunched his fingers into the sheets at her waist, as if that movement were some sign of encouragement.</p><p>“All that pain and confusion for him gone, no more endless nights, being wrenched from sleep by his screaming for me and running down the hallway to his room only for him not to even recognise me. Not at the end. I was relieved, not just for him, but for me too. I was free again. And that sounds terrible.” She cried then, an odd sound that seemed to escape as the words, the admittance of her feelings, spilled out.</p><p>“I understand,” he said, pressing the pads of his fingers hard into her hip. “It’s not terrible. It’s normal.” He leant into her, kissing her forehead tenderly, soothingly.</p><p>“I really did love him,” she admitted, one hand brushing away any errant tears. “Despite what people might think. And I did my best to be a good wife, a fucking terrible mother most of the time but I was a good wife to him. The commitment you make when you marry, you think it’ll just be shit like putting up with in-laws and the fact he snores and on occasion can be condescending,” she tried to smile, saw the flicker of that in Roman’s eyes now he was so close to her. “But when your husband gets ill you care for him, even when he’s really ill, even when it’s awful and you want to walk away and can’t. I spent much of those years exhausted, holding it together at work because fuck, what else can you do when Logan Roy is your boss?”</p><p>He hated his father afresh at that, which was illogical really, because he certainly hadn’t been the worm in Baird’s brain. But he was an easy target for a problem Roman couldn’t fix.</p><p>“I sold our home, after the funeral, Blair thought it too soon, that I was brushing any traces of Baird out of our lives. I sold it too quickly. I bought my own apartment too quickly. I didn’t keep any of the furniture from our home, just photographs, trinkets. I needed to start afresh, do you see that, she thought I was selfish and cruel. I think they both did at first but Maisie softened as the years went on, Blair didn’t. Losing her father was like someone slicing into her heart and removing a chunk of it. And it was easier to take that pain out on me.”</p><p>“Despite it not being fair,” he said.</p><p>She pressed her lips together in a thin line, “When are things ever fair in families?”</p><p>He thought of Kendall, perhaps understood him that little bit more, heart aching for the shit he’d had to go through that Roman couldn’t save him from.</p><p>“Why don’t you tell her this? Make her see?” He offered gently.</p><p>“There’s no point now, it’s too long ago. I’m a different person, we live different lives.”</p><p>“You’re her mother, there should be some kind of…” he couldn’t finish that because he didn’t know what. His relationship with his mother was hardly some fucking bed of roses; he’d never turn to her for anything resembling care or affection.</p><p>“I feel guilty.” She said, refocussing him.</p><p>“For Baird getting ill? That’s bullshit, you can’t do anything about that.”</p><p>“No, Roman, not for that.” She tried to turn, he held her hips as she twisted, grimaced at the movement before resettling her leg down, her hands moving to his shoulders, fingers trailing over the back of his neck. “For you. I feel guilty over you.”</p><p>He frowned, eyes narrowing as his brain tried to catch up. “In what regard?”</p><p>“You accused me of being embarrassed of you the other day, of keeping you at arm’s length. I can assure you that’s not how I feel.” She breathed deeply, bit down on her lip again, “It scares me, Roman, to commit to you on any level, because everything about this should be wrong, everything about it should make me certifiable. It should be failing as time goes on and it’s not. Everything about it is perfectly right. And I…” she paused again; he could feel her nails grazing against his skin. “…I’ve never felt like this, that’s where the guilt is, do you see?”</p><p>He lifted his chin, eyes wide, because he didn’t entirely see, or rather his brain wouldn’t go there, he wouldn’t allow himself to.</p><p>“I loved my husband very much, I would never have abandoned him, never, even when things were terrible.”</p><p>“I understand that.”</p><p>“But that love was safe, manageable, easy. This –,” it was a dare, pushing herself to say the things that would never usually make it outside of the neat little box she kept locked in her head. “– Roman it’s nothing to how I love you, the way I feel about you. These things you bring to life inside of me.”</p><p>He stared at her, open-mouthed, feeling like an idiot for all the dumb-ass things he’d said to her that night in the hospital. For acting like some brat who wasn’t getting what he wanted immediately, when she’d spent so long teaching him about the value and pleasure of delayed gratification.</p><p>“I need you to know that. Not doubt me. Even when I’m distant and cold, or seem to be, I really never mean to…” she closed her eyes, gave herself a moment, tried to slow her racing heart and the thready breaths she was taking.</p><p>“I’m not an emotional person, I don’t show it enough perhaps, but I’ve come to accept that about myself. With the children I found it so hard to be affectionate, to be in the moment with them, and I felt like the only woman on earth who struggled to make a connection with her babies. And eventually that meant they left, or I pushed them away, and we have this horrid half relationship now where I’m really not a part of their lives and they’re not a part of mine. But you… goodness Roman, I don’t want that with you. Because I truly love you more than anyone I’ve ever… and I feel guilty about that, do you see?” She felt the tears running freely down her face now, felt ridiculous because she couldn’t control it, that there was something in her life she couldn’t control. “Because I’m not sure I deserve it.”</p><p>“God, if anyone doesn’t deserve it, it’s me.” He pressed his hand to her back, pulled her to him and kissed her repeatedly. “I love you.” He whispered against her skin, into her hair, against her neck as his kisses moved and then into her mouth, pushing his tongue to meet hers until she was groaning and he couldn’t breathe so he pressed his forehead against hers, smiling in the dark like some kind of drugged-up fool.</p><p>“My fucking knee,” she complained, then laughed, pushing against his shoulder as she tried to rearrange herself, lay on her back and let him lean over her. “I think I need a drink.” She raked her fingers through her hair, “feel like I just gutted myself in front of you.”</p><p>“You can tell me anything,” he whispered, kissing her chest. “Because you’ve done that for me, always been there, whatever fuck up I’ve made. Putting me together.”</p><p>He looked up at her, the slanted smile she gave him, her eyes pink at the edges from crying.</p><p>“You okay?” He asked, and it was such a tiny thing to ask, but it meant so very much because he was looking at her with this absolute affection in his eyes and it was so not the Roman she knew from only two years earlier.</p><p>She gave him a small nod, “I will be.”</p><p>“I’ll fetch us a drink,” he said, making very little effort to move from her body.</p><p>“I’m sorry I can’t wrap my legs around you and let you pound me into oblivion,” she teased, a hand sliding over his shoulder. “I need that right now.”</p><p>“We can find other ways,” he tipped himself out of bed, picked her dress up from the floor and laid it across a chair. “I think you should text them tomorrow, you said they were here until Sunday, so invite them for brunch.”</p><p>“What?” It took her a moment to catch up. “Here?”</p><p>“Yeah, might be nice, better than a restaurant, I don’t have to be here.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.” She said softly then added, “It’s maybe too late to build bridges.”</p><p>“Nah, never too late for anything, is it? Look at you and I.”</p><p>Her heart clenched at the thought of that, at what they were building together.</p><p>“If I tell them you have a pool table they might come.”</p><p>“Ah, gonna be bettered by three women, am I?”</p><p>She shrugged, let him help her to sit. “I might have taught them a few moves.”</p><p>“Well, they can have the run of the place, the gym, spa downstairs. I can get a chef if you think…”</p><p>She cut him off, “We can just order in, okay, if they agree to come. You don’t have to impress them; you’ve already impressed me so that’s all that matters.”</p><p>He leant over to kiss her, felt the pull in his back as he did so but was unwilling to part as her mouth blended so perfectly with his. Kissing her until he was breathless and hard and her hand was reaching to stroke him through his boxers.</p><p>“You know,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her, resisting the urge to press forward into her palm and let her so easily get him off. “I’m going to fetch a bottle of something and then plant myself between your legs.”</p><p>“Oh, you are? With my injury?”</p><p>“I think you can part your legs wide enough for me to get my head down there, and then…” he stood up, looked her body up and down as he shrugged, “well, pleasure makes you forget about the pain, right?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to Heart of Genovia for being a dear friend and listening to all my anxiety ridden worries and endlessly talking GR - love you!!! 😘</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Wrong Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<p>For someone so absolutely focussed on organising every minute of their lives it is quite extraordinary to Gerri that she manages to make it an hour into the actual flight before probing him on the destination.</p>
<p><em>‘A birthday trip’</em>, is what he’d said when they were out to dinner a few Fridays previous, and her only instructions had been to simply <em>‘go with it’</em> when her calendar was altered. And she had, surprisingly, her assistant smiling in some oddly soft way when she’d left that afternoon, clearly she knew more than Gerri. The irony didn’t fail to catch her sometimes, that her assistant was exactly the type of woman Roman had dated since he’d started bringing girls to corporate events – a tall, willowy blonde – the opposite of her boss.</p>
<p>“How will I know if I’ve packed correctly?” She’d suddenly asked, looking up from her laptop and across the short table at him.</p>
<p>“Then we’ll shop.”</p>
<p>“Asshole.” She reached for the whisky he’d poured her. “How long is the flight, are we talking Vermont, Vegas? What kind of long weekend, exactly?”</p>
<p>“Longer,” he teased, “Think more European.” He sank back in his chair, a smug smile curling his lips. “Ah, you like that idea, your eyes sparkled.”</p>
<p>“London?” She asked, folding her hands beneath her chin. “Take in a couple of plays, perhaps.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, London is for Christmas shopping, think more of a romantic Birthday weekend.”</p>
<p>“Venice?” She suggested, sucked on her bottom lip, “Hmm, Paris?”</p>
<p>“Jackpot!”</p>
<p>She mirrored his posture, slipping back in her chair, folding her legs at her ankles. “You were right, that is romantic.”</p>
<p>“The incompetent fool did good?”</p>
<p>She avoided a direct answer, it was more fun to keep him guessing. “No wonder I needed to take four days.” She sucked her whisky around her mouth, felt it burn into her tongue. “And do I get more details?”</p>
<p>“Penthouse suite, George V, I expect us to try out the bathtub. Together.”</p>
<p>“Well, of course.” She took another sip of her whisky, mostly to mask her smile, or hide behind the glass; there was something exhilarating about the moment, something she wasn’t used to. Not many people surprised her these days, and certainly very few people in her life had ever gone above and beyond to please her or bring her joy. Four days in Paris with a younger, handsome, charming man who was in love with her suddenly seemed an overwhelming prospect and she felt her heart tighten at that thought.</p>
<p>“Few more surprises, but you’ll have to wait.”</p>
<p>She reached across the table to touch his hand. “Thank you. Really. This is incredibly sweet, Roman.”</p>
<p>He nodded, she noted his cheeks reddened at her words and she wondered if he too felt the intensity of the moment or if he was simply embarrassed by his own caring actions – after all, his reputation had never really been built on acts of kindness.</p>
<p>“We should try and sleep,” he said, “it’ll be early morning when we get there. You don’t mind if I pop a pill, grab a few hours.”</p>
<p>“I might join you.”</p>
<p>He got to his feet, stretched his lithe body and jerked his chin, “It’s a wide bed,” he stated, as if that told her all she needed to know.</p>
<p>She crossed her ankles, her mouth twisted as she stretched her arms above her head. “I’d rather the rest of the crew weren’t listening to you get me off.”</p>
<p>“So selfish,” he laughed. “I mean, it might be about me getting off.” He unbuckled his belt, pushed his trousers down his slim hips and kicked off his shoes so he was standing in just a white t-shirt and boxers. She was amused by him, watched as he took a sleeping pill and moved into the other cabin where there was a bed made up.</p>
<p>Try as she might to concentrate, the allure of slipping into bed with him – even on his father’s private plane – was too inviting. She finished the document she was working on and closed down her laptop. Removed her heels, stockings and the dress she wore and in nothing but her underwear and the silk slip she wore underneath went into him.</p>
<p>He’d turned down the lights but looked up at her movement.</p>
<p>“Don’t say a word,” she insisted to his cheeky grin. "And you lied about it being a large bed."</p>
<p>He lifted the sheet and she slid in next to him; it was only just that bit bigger than a single and he had to press himself back against the wall as she lay down, but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact his expression suggested this unexpected turn up had excited him.</p>
<p>Roman leant over her, automatically moving to kiss her neck, finding that spot she loved for him to stroke with his tongue, recognising the movement of her lower body as he did it, the way her hips pushed upwards, the way she tilted her neck back that bit further to give him access.</p>
<p>“This was just for sleep,” she whispered, a hand creeping over his back. “So we’re tuned into Paris time when we land.”</p>
<p>“A-ha,” he mumbled against her skin.</p>
<p>“So, enough of that, let me turn over so we can both fit and sleep.”</p>
<p>“We can both fit like this,” he was saying, and he looked at her then, eyes shining with that mischievous glint he got so often around her, she felt his fingers tiptoeing down her body, sliding around the lace of her panties before inching them down.</p>
<p>“Rome… People might hear.”</p>
<p>“Then be quiet.”</p>
<p>“That’s hardly going to convince me.”</p>
<p>“Fuck me you’re hot,” he said, leaning in to kiss her mouth, “fucking gorgeous.”</p>
<p>She giggled at that, both arms around him now as she laughed. “Your seduction technique is so on the nose.”</p>
<p>“No point pissing about,” he moved down her body, removed her panties completely and dropped them to the floor before moving on top of her. “See, plenty of room now. You ever had sex on a plane?”</p>
<p>“No comment.”</p>
<p>“Upright in a toilet, I bet, filthy bitch.”</p>
<p>She dug her nails into the back of his neck, “Do I look like that type of woman?”</p>
<p>“The type of woman to let some little worm like Roman Roy fuck her on a flight to Paris.”</p>
<p>“Ah, so it’s that game is it.” She slid her hands into his hair, nails sharp against his scalp. “Don’t be a fucking limp dick then, make it worth my while, I want to sleep like a baby afterward.”</p>
<p>“Noted.”</p>
<p>He lifted the sheets and ducked down beneath them, an impish grin as he pressed his face into her silk-covered breasts and looked back up at her. “Bite your lip, babe.” He said, and she giggled as he kissed his way down the entirety of her body.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Roman wakes to a hand on his shoulder, blinks a few times before his eyes focus on the flight attendant standing nervously by the bed, the cabin dark but for the blue lights along the walkway.</p>
<p>“Forty-five minutes until we land, Mr Roy.” She whispered.</p>
<p>He gave a nod, was aware of Gerri’s face pressed against his chest, her shuffling slightly, starting to wake. The warmth of the cabin and the smell of her hair made him want to sleep again and he pressed her against him, his hands on her back.</p>
<p>“We slept,” she mumbled against him.</p>
<p>“A-ha,” he kissed her head. “Should be at the hotel in time for breakfast.”</p>
<p>She seemed to hum against him, moving slowly, languidly, onto her back, running a hand through her hair.  “So, this was nice.”</p>
<p>“Beats the normal flight routine of Dad yelling at the staff. Or me.”</p>
<p>“Well, quite. And I actually got to rest.” She twisted her neck, loosening her muscles, starting to sit. “Christ, I wonder what they think,” she said, it dawning on her that it was potentially the first time anybody outside of family and friends had seen them in an intimate setting.</p>
<p>“Fuck what they think,” he crawled over the bed, over her lap, pausing to kiss her, “that I’m fucking lucky is what.”</p>
<p>She watched as he inelegantly moved around the small space, hooking his trousers up his legs and finding his wash bag. “Going to brush my teeth.”</p>
<p>She listened to the running of water in the adjoining bathroom as she sat thinking. It occurred to her that her underwear was still sitting on the floor and she scooped up her panties and felt her cheeks flush red at the thought that the flight attendant might have seen them. There was still that point where she had to keep reminding herself they weren’t doing anything wrong – they were two single, consenting adults. It’s not like he was barely out of his twenties and unknowing of the ways of the world. He was almost forty. He made his choices just as she made hers. But, despite that, there was still this slither of guilt at being so happy; it was an unfamiliar feeling to her, something beyond work success – which was the only real experience of feeling complete or worthy, and even that was often short-lived. There was always a new challenge, a new deal, Logan never rested for more than a day or two. It kept her sharp, it kept her moving forward and demanding more.</p>
<p>Only maybe she was growing tired of moving forward. Maybe she wanted to just stop.</p>
<p>“What’s that face?” He asks, his hair stuck up like he’s nine.</p>
<p>“Thoughts.”</p>
<p>“Christ, I hope not fucking deep thoughts at this time of the morning. My thoughts are food. Coffee. Food.”</p>
<p>“It must be wondrous to have such a wide-ranging imagination; the constant search for intellectual stimulation.”</p>
<p>“Bitch,” he leant over and kissed her again. “Got the fuck ready, soon as we land I want to be off.”</p>
<p>“And people say you have no head for being CEO, bossy enough for it.” But she is swinging her legs out of the small bed and finding her clothes.</p>
<p>She has stayed at the hotel before but never the Penthouse, there’s something disconcerting about the attention she gets now she’s part of his package. She’s always been part of this world, <em>the bubble</em> she’s always thought of it as, but not this close. Previously she would disappear into the backdrop as part of the entourage, now she is fussed over and called madame and is keenly aware of how she looks when he takes her hand and helps her out of the car – how they look together.</p>
<p>It’s a whistle tour of their rooms, he is too impatient to sit and wait as she uses the bathroom and tidies her hair and changes into fresh clothes not creased from travel. She finds him out on the balcony, the city is waking and the early morning paleness of the light makes it look like its covered in webs, as if its glistening with dew. She stands beside him, her hands pressed against the railing.</p>
<p>“Some view,” he states in hushed tones and she feels a rhythm of excitement as she scans their surroundings. “What’s that one?” He asks, a slender finger pointing forward, to the left of the Eiffel Tower.</p>
<p>“The American Cathedral,” she says, “we should visit after breakfast.”</p>
<p>“Looks Gothic.”</p>
<p>“I think so. Did you plan anything for today?”</p>
<p>“Only dinner tonight, tour of the wine cellar. Thought you might like that.”</p>
<p>She moves behind him, arms around his waist, head resting against his back. “I will. Thank you.”</p>
<p>They eat on the balcony with that backdrop; scrambled eggs and caviar for her, pastries and fruit for him. She wonders sometimes how he stays so slim, but then he rarely sits still for more than ten minutes and he can’t even sit like a normal human, with his foot balanced on his chair and bobbing about as she reads the history of the cathedral to him from her phone screen.</p>
<p>“No work this weekend,” he demands when she finishes and flips from the history lesson to her emails. “You’re off duty.”</p>
<p>“I’m never off duty.”</p>
<p>“For the next three days you are. I want you clear headed and in a good mood.”</p>
<p>“I am in a good mood. This is me being in a good mood,” she leans across and snatches a strawberry from his plate. “But I can’t not check in, and neither can you, truthfully.”</p>
<p>“I fucking well can. I told my assistant to only contact me if there’s an explosion or Dad is ill. Otherwise I’m at your beck and call, do what you want with me.” He held his arms out, “Use me and abuse me.”</p>
<p>“Oh but you know I will.” She teased in return. “You worry about that? Him getting ill again?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” he shrugged, “try not to think.”</p>
<p>“Think what you could do, you and Kendall,” she said softly, planting seeds had always been a speciality.</p>
<p>“Or you and me.”</p>
<p>She screwed her mouth, “I think maybe I’m getting too old for the game.” She slipped her hand down beneath the table to rub her knee. “I must have slept in an odd position; my knee is killing me again. I’m going to have to see a specialist when we get back. This is the thing with age, Roman, things don’t heal as easily as they once did.”</p>
<p>“You want me to get a car today, I figured we’d walk but…”</p>
<p>“No, I like the walk, I want to just be like other tourists, as much as we can.”</p>
<p>“Alright. And you’re not too old for the game. You’re the heart of the game.”</p>
<p>“Ha! I’d like to think so but sadly not. But you are, though, you’ve got plenty left to do. You’re handling the LA thing, aren’t you, next month?”</p>
<p>“Christ, yes,” he gasped between coffee. “Stuck in fucking fridge-like warehouses with a bunch of zero-personality plastic-filled corpses.” He paused momentarily. “Come with me.”</p>
<p>“Because you’ve really sold it to me.”</p>
<p>“Come on. I like having you in the room with me, like my own personal cheerleader.”</p>
<p>“Yay! Go Roman!” She teased, leaning back in her chair. “I never made the team.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t have wanted to play with those bitches anyhow.”</p>
<p>“Well, quite.” She turned over the corner of her napkin, folding it into a neat triangle. “I can’t spare four days, Roman, much as I might want to cheer your corner. You forget sometimes I’m not your personal assistant.”</p>
<p>“I don’t forget, but I’d hire you as such.”</p>
<p>“You can’t possibly afford me.”</p>
<p>He laughed, “Look, I don’t want you there in work capacity.” He shrugged, “As my girlfriend, yeah, like brightening up my arm.”</p>
<p>That made her smile.</p>
<p>“Come for the last night, this premiere I’ve been invited to, if the film is bullshit we can leave, but there’s a dinner first, party after. Chance for you to wear some sexy-ass dress and make every man come in their pants during dinner.”</p>
<p>“Yes, because I’ll stand out against a backdrop of LA insects.”</p>
<p>“That’s precisely why you’ll stand out.”</p>
<p>She turned the napkin over and back again, then tapped her fingers against it. “I’ll consider it.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Roman was quietly efficient at certain things, and clearly making sure the details of their trip were to his liking was one of them. On the Friday night he was taking her to La Tour d’Argent; she’d been with colleagues years ago and she must have mentioned to him once how much she enjoyed the views of the Notre Dame and the vast wine list – which she hadn’t been able to fully indulge in at the time, this was a visit early in her career, nowadays money seemed of little issue when it came to selecting wine.</p>
<p>She wore a calf-length black dress, black boots and a black jacket decked with silver jewellery. She’d blown her hair out in some fancy way and was fastening a long silver earring into place when she came into the room where he sat waiting.</p>
<p>“I’m ready,” she announced and he got to his feet whistling appreciatively.</p>
<p>“Well, you look stunning,” he said, “there’s something about you in red lipstick, makes my balls tingle.”</p>
<p>“Oh how flattering for me,” she was pressing her phone into the small handbag she carried.</p>
<p>He caught hold of her arm, “Hey, I mean it, like a goddess. I like your hair this way.” He kissed her cheek.</p>
<p>“Paris is all about being chic,” she said with a smile, “and I fancied a change. Hence contact lenses too.”</p>
<p>“Not sure I’m smart enough to be worthy of a date.” He stated, holding his arm out for her. “Slumming it with me.”</p>
<p>“Every day, dahhling,” she sighed dramatically, taking hold of his arm.</p>
<p>They toured the wine cellar privately, Roman receiving the odd pinch to his arm or an elbow in the ribs whenever he reached out to touch some of the dust-laden bottles. He liked it down there, enjoyed the ambience, the history, the fact that he could actively imagine vampires hanging from the ceiling.</p>
<p>“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you down here?” He whispered by her ear as their guide strode through ahead of them. That earned him another elbow in the ribs but he only laughed because her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely turned off by the idea. That’s what he liked about Gerri, she was on his wavelength most of the time, she was tuned into whatever silly thought crossed his mind.</p>
<p>“You know, I could get into all that,” he stated as she scanned the menu later. “Wine. Never thought about the value in it before.”</p>
<p>“You mean you want to build up your own wine cellar, it’s a nice idea. Start small, then you can start bidding on the top stuff at auctions.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t help but marvel at that too – his father, or in fact any member of his family, would chastise him for being a dick and jumping onto a hobby at the first shorthand experience he got, but not Gerri. “Not sure the apartment is the place for it. Need somewhere older, dark and cool like here, beneath the bowels of the city.”</p>
<p>“A-ha,” she closed her menu.</p>
<p>“Like at our country place.”</p>
<p>Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him. “<em>Our </em>country place?”</p>
<p>“Well, you know what I mean, when we get one.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t aware we’d even had the slightest conversation that we might get one.”</p>
<p>“We did, don’t try and tell me I dreamt this; I distinctly recall a conversation about it during my birthday weekend.”</p>
<p>She twisted her tongue in her mouth, folded her hands together, “I think you mentioned you might like the idea of a country retreat, not that we were getting one. Whatever was said, it wasn’t a two-way conversation.”</p>
<p>His face fell, “Okay, shit, you don’t want to get somewhere then?”</p>
<p>“I’m not averse to the idea of a weekend home, Roman, at some point, but the two of us buying together?” Her eyebrows rose, “That’s a big step.”</p>
<p>“They’re all big steps. All we do is take big steps. That doesn’t mean that –,”</p>
<p>He paused momentarily as their orders were taken; he ordered the most expensive Bordeaux they had, and she hated to think of the actual price.</p>
<p>“That wine is likely a down payment on a house,” she said, sipping her water.</p>
<p>“Don’t be judgemental now.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t dare. What doesn’t it mean?”</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Before he interrupted you said ‘that doesn’t mean…’ So, what doesn’t it mean?”</p>
<p>He sighed, shoulders slumping, “I was going to say it doesn’t mean it won’t work. I think it could. Choosing somewhere together. If it’s the money thing, you know I don’t give a fuck, I can buy it and it’ll still be ours.”</p>
<p>“No,” she interrupted his flow. “No, it isn’t that. In some ways buying together is better because, well, just legally.” She said, and then stopped again when their wine arrived. She watched as he tasted it, happily took her glass and took a long drink, eyes widening as she looked across at him. “Oh my god, that’s good.”</p>
<p>“I know, right.”</p>
<p>“Roman,” she leant forward, one hand reaching across the table to him.</p>
<p>“Christ, don’t do that tone.”</p>
<p>“What tone?”</p>
<p>“Like going to chastise me tone. You think it’s a shit idea and I’m an idiot.”</p>
<p>She tutted, “I didn’t say that and I don’t think that. I think it’s a lovely idea, but it hasn’t even been two years yet with us. And I don’t want you to feel like we have to rush, to fit everything in.”</p>
<p>He huffed, glanced out of the window and she gave him a minute, because she knew very well that if she left him for sixty seconds and rubbed his wrist with her thumb he’d calm and talk sensibly. He was as easy to handle as that.</p>
<p>“Well,” he turned his face back to her and she smiled, dipped her head momentarily to hide it. “What if we just looked? No commitment. Just like, look around, see what’s out there. It could well take years to find somewhere we like, somewhere suitable. I want to be able to sail, no pissing about driving miles for the water, I want to walk down on my land and it be there.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” There was something incredibly grown up about how he sounded and it floored her.</p>
<p>“And I want room for stables, a gym, pool. All that shit. Doesn’t matter if it’s old and neglected, we can make it what we want, make it look like the picture in my head. Even build from scratch if need be, find some land….”</p>
<p>“Rome,” she interrupted, her hand still pressed against his lower arm.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You’ve really thought about this?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “I do think about stuff, you know, the future and shit. I’m not some cretin with the emotional range of a napkin.”</p>
<p>She laughed at that, “I know. I just didn’t realise you’d been thinking about things like this.”</p>
<p>“No. Well,” he took a sip of the glorious wine. “I happen to be in love with you, and I rather like the idea of us having a proper home, you know, at some point in the future.”</p>
<p>Her smile lit up her eyes, “You’re always so damned surprising.”</p>
<p>“I’d hate to be predictable.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He’s behind her in the elevator, kissing her neck, she lets him, despite the fact there are undoubtedly cameras watching. She can feel his hands wandering, closes her eyes and lets him touch where he wants. Those eager young hands always so desperate for her, despite their months together now, she absently wonders if he’ll ever find anyone else to love the way he loves her – she knows he is without doubt the most conscientious lover she has ever had, and that in turn makes him the best, because whatever they’re doing and in whichever way they’re doing it, her pleasure comes first.</p>
<p>The pun makes her snigger.</p>
<p>“What’s funny?” He breathes by her ear, and then his hand is lifting the skirt of her dress and she stops him, her hand over his pressing down hard.</p>
<p>“Not here.” She turns then, meets his mouth, pushes her tongue inside to claim him. “I was thinking of all the terrible lovers I’ve had who have fucked me badly.”</p>
<p>He grips her ass, presses against her, his erection already pressing into her lower belly.</p>
<p>She scrapes her nails across his neck, “Impatient little shit.”</p>
<p>“I feel like these are stories you need to tell me so I don’t feel such an inadequate prick about all those times I’ve fucked people poorly.”</p>
<p>“Not me.”</p>
<p>“Not you, because you wouldn’t stand for that level of bullshit.”</p>
<p>She laughed again; it was one of those kind of nights – a fuck night, not a love night.</p>
<p>In the room he has her naked within minutes, there are candles lit in the bedroom and she wonders who he paid, who he bribed, to get that particular act of seduction done. A bottle of champagne in a silver bucket on the bedside table. There’s a bench at the foot of the bed and he makes her sit there, watching as he undresses himself, legs crossed, her left foot swinging in the air as she sips the champagne like some model in an arty film.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says, taking the glass from her, finishing what she’s left, bidding her to lie back and spread her legs as he kneels between them.</p>
<p>She sighs heavily, “I fucking hate you,” she says as she looks up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“Why?” He’s pressing kisses to that spot on her thigh that makes her shiver.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have this much power over me.”</p>
<p>“It’s a once in a lifetime experience,” he smirked, and then she feels his thumb stroke over her, wonders if she was already wet there before he touched her and for how much longer her body will continue to respond in this way. How many more years of this do they have?</p>
<p>When his tongue moves to join his hand she closes her eyes, pushes her pelvis up involuntarily as his fingers slip inside and groans so loudly she feels like she’s never been touched before. Vacations are a wonderful time for slow, sensual sex; somehow it hits ever more different than it does in the solitude of their apartments.</p>
<p>His free hand slides beneath her bottom, lifting her, and his mouth is fully on her now, licking and sucking at her as she grinds down against him. She’s never been particularly fond of oral sex, it all seemed a lot of fuss and bother before you actually got down to the main event, but this is good, this makes her feel wanted, longed for, and that carries its own kind of eroticism.</p>
<p>When she comes he is still touching her, slower as she clenches and tightens around him, but his face is lifted and she knows he’s watching her expression, the results of his handy work.</p>
<p>“Stop staring,” she manages to mutter as she’s coming down from her high; she feels messy and slick between her thighs but he’s still patiently kneeling there.</p>
<p>“Can’t help it. How blue are your eyes after that?”</p>
<p>She looks down at him, a hand pushing into her hair as she lifts her shoulders from the bed so she can see him better.</p>
<p>“Well?” She glares.</p>
<p>“Like fucking ice. Sapphire ice.”</p>
<p>“You can dress me in sapphires, if you like.” She lifts her foot, presses her heel into his shoulder until he twists his head and kisses her toes.</p>
<p>“Always with the red nails.”</p>
<p>“You don’t fuck with the classics.” She is half sitting now, can watch as he kisses her foot, strokes her ankle. “Are you painfully hard?”</p>
<p>“I can wait.” But his voice is tight.</p>
<p>Her eyes widen, “Be a good boy and pour me another glass of champagne.”</p>
<p>“Yes ma’am.” He salutes and she digs her heel into his neck for good measure.</p>
<p>“Insolent boys don’t get anything.”</p>
<p>He crawls from where he’s been kneeling, and she’s laughing as he struggles to get to his feet.</p>
<p>“Christ, like an old man already.”</p>
<p>“You’re wearing me out.”</p>
<p>“Am I?” She moved to sit on the bench again, legs tucked beneath her this time, and he handed her the bottle of champagne, she waved her hand instructing for him to lie in front of her. And he did. Proud as you like. “No glass?”</p>
<p>“Waste of time.” He stretched his arms out above him before folding them beneath his head.</p>
<p>“Questionable but okay.” She took a long drink, amused herself by tipping the bottle and dribbling it onto his face.</p>
<p>“If you stain this carpet, you’re paying the repairs.”</p>
<p>“Which one of us is the old one here again?”</p>
<p>“Fuck you.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” she poured more into his mouth, did that for a while, back and forth between the pair of them, and then got to her feet. Putting the bottle down and padding barefoot across the bedroom into one of the bathrooms. “Be in that same spot when I return.” She instructed and he smiled, closed his eyes, waited for her patiently.</p>
<p>His erection had softened a little as he’d laid there, but when she walked back in, gloriously naked, his interest perked again and he felt the familiar urge to be inside her – as if being inside her was the only thing that gave him life these days.</p>
<p>She watched him twist and squirm on the carpet waiting for her permission to move.</p>
<p>“You remember that godawful movie Madonna made,” she said lowly as she crossed the room to where one of the candles burned, melted. “All sex, pouring candle wax on men’s balls.”</p>
<p>“Don’t get any fucking ideas.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” She lifted the candle.</p>
<p>“You burn this now; we have an entire weekend of games interrupted.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that, “Isn’t it a thin line between pleasure and pain?”</p>
<p>“Maybe so.”</p>
<p>“Would you let me?” She asked as she moved towards him, the flame flickering across her hand.</p>
<p>“You know I would,” he admitted. “Just be gentle. Get some ice out the champagne bucket or –,”</p>
<p>Her laughter interrupted him, “Roman, I wouldn’t honestly hurt you.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, pulled a face, “Might be good. I’ve paid for worse.”</p>
<p>She blew the candle out, set it down, took a handful of ice from the bucket instead and bent, pressing it to his chest. “That’s for reminding me there were women before me.” She hissed as she pressed a cube against his nipple.</p>
<p>“Nah, virgin until you.” And in many ways he had been.</p>
<p>She got to her feet again, had been eyeing the chair in the corner of the room, knelt on it facing away from him, glanced back over her shoulder at him, hair mussed and sexy as she sucked on her bottom lip.</p>
<p>It didn’t take him long to catch on, and he was behind her, his mouth tiptoeing up her spine, hands on her hips, squeezing, sliding round and up until his palms cupped her breasts. She tilted her head back, his face disappearing into her hair, fingers teasing her nipples.</p>
<p>“I love you playing with my body.”</p>
<p>“I love that you let me,” he bit down on her shoulder, licked it after. She was tilting herself forward, and he loved that too, how she was so eager for him, he could smell her desire, that was the ultimate turn on – that a woman like this wanted him.</p>
<p>It was tight at this angle, he watched as she pressed her hands into the wall, fingers splayed, listened to the sounds coming from the back of her throat, each one committed to his memory, knew exactly when he’d hit the right spot from the way she gasped, that girlish air-filled sound coming from her that often seemed so at odds with the no-nonsense ice-queen of the boardroom.</p>
<p>“What do you like?” He grunted by her ear.</p>
<p>The question surprised her, dragged her back from the pleasure filled haze she was swimming in, delicately balanced upon the verge of an orgasm.</p>
<p>“This,” she managed to mumble.</p>
<p>“Not good enough,” he pressed deeper inside her. “That?”</p>
<p>“You filling me,” she never did this, it was like opening another door of herself.</p>
<p>“The warmth of your mouth,” he said, sliding back and forth, holding her hips. “The heat of you, the way you use your tongue.”</p>
<p>“Roman…”</p>
<p>“The way you ride me. Fuck me. Stroking up and down.”</p>
<p>“Oh Christ, Rome…”</p>
<p>“I love it when you come with me inside you. Gripping me.”</p>
<p>“Yes, oh yes, that. You coming inside me.”</p>
<p>He doesn't remember much after that, nothing but a blur of their voices meshing and their bodies coming together and then his face in her hair as the world collided into colour.</p>
<p>“I can’t move,” she muttered, chin balanced on the back of the chair, “I actually think my knees have given up.”</p>
<p>“Hang on, I need to just…”</p>
<p>She gasped tightly when he pulled out of her.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he kissed her shoulder, “sorry.” His voice soft as his hands moved over her body, lifting her back until she could straighten her legs and stand, blood rushing back to her ankles.</p>
<p>“Good god, I wonder when we’ll be over all this messy sex business,” she said, thighs sticky as she padded to the bathroom.</p>
<p>“Never, I hope.”</p>
<p>“There will come a time, one day,” she called out to him, “when I won’t be able to manage it anymore.”</p>
<p>“Your hand will stick work,” he teased.</p>
<p>“Fucking romantic you are,” she said as she came out again, amused by the fact he was still standing there naked. “I still have my voice to chastise you too. Now, go get cleaned up, you know how I get.”</p>
<p>“Oh shit yeah, two orgasms, knocked her out. Better than any fucking sleeping pill.”</p>
<p>She pinched his earlobe, “Don’t make me treat you like a child, take your toys away.”</p>
<p>She has the look about her that makes his groin ache, that flushed-pink-messy-hair look; and a desire to do it all over again.</p>
<p>He saluted, marched away, and she climbed into the giant of a bed, settled on the left by the French doors and melted back into the mountain of pillows. The travel, the time difference, had caught up with her. Added to that a fair amount of red wine, brandy after dinner, champagne, and now – yes – two orgasms. Roman was right, she was asleep by the time he got into bed. He snuggled up beside her, his head leaning down onto her shoulder, and slept.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Gerri woke suddenly, laid for a moment in the dark feeling unsettled, her heart pounding, chest rising and falling – she felt cold and alone.</p>
<p>Her eyes flicked to the window as the sound of a passing car brought her back to where she was. Paris. She turned her neck slowly, felt the weight of Roman’s hand resting on her stomach on top of the sheets. Beside her, he still slept and that brought some comfort back.</p>
<p>She reached to her left, fingers pressing and lifting her phone, 3:36, she slipped out of the bed tiptoeing to her bathroom – wherever they stayed there were always two bathrooms at least, and she respected that, he liked his space and so did she.</p>
<p>She stared in the mirror, wished she hadn’t because bathroom lights are never flattering and her eyes looked heavy and tired. Birthdays. Adult birthdays anyhow, they always drum up some kind of reflection, funny how as a child they represent the most exciting and exhilarating of days. Roman always seemed able to tap into that childhood energy whenever he wanted to, as if it was just below the surface being contained. She enjoyed that, it made her feel alive all over again, reminded her of the raw energy of her youth when she was free to do anything and brave enough to try anything. Just like tonight.</p>
<p>She turned the main light off again, left the one lit above the mirror, and for some odd reason felt the need to brush her teeth. She wasn’t sure how much wine they’d consumed with dinner, or how many cocktails she’d had in the bar, but her teeth felt coated in sugar and she was annoyed with herself for drunkenly falling into bed with him after sex and not doing this earlier.</p>
<p>The mint on her tongue made her feel settled, which in itself seemed odd, but she was also cold as she went back to the bed. Outside it was raining heavily and, although she hoped it might have disappeared by the time morning came, she enjoyed the steady thud of it against the building. The rhythm a lullaby.</p>
<p>Roman lifted the sheets and she saw the flash of his eyes as he took her in as she slipped in beside him.</p>
<p>He pressed the sheets over her, “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Dream woke me.” She burrowed back against his body, pressing her bottom deliberately into his groin, waiting for his arms to slide around her in that familiar way – well, it was familiar now. She closed her eyes, opened them again when the image from her dream flashed into her mind.</p>
<p>His mouth was on the back of her neck, shifting her hair as he pressed his lips against her.</p>
<p>“What dream?”</p>
<p>“Odd shit, mixed up,” she said softly, sliding her arms out from beneath the sheets again as she felt a flush of heat race over her skin. “I was at some waterway, canal boats or something, only it was like a maze and I kept walking from row to row trying to get to the water. And sometimes I walked alone, sometimes others joined me, and then suddenly I reach the water, and then there’s the body floating there.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.” His fingers pressed into her stomach. “That’s a nightmare, not a dream.”</p>
<p>“Mmm, odd, not sure where it came from. That comes from eating too much rich food and wine.” She gave a short laugh, “My Gran always used to say that.”</p>
<p>He can’t quite imagine her having a Grandmother, instantly wonders what she looked like and if her voice was like Gerri’s, if they were close.</p>
<p>“Were you close to her?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes again. “My mother’s mother, I was close to her.”</p>
<p>“I feel like you might have a hundred stories to tell.”</p>
<p>“I do. I will, at some point. Perhaps when we’re turning the earth in our country pad. Planting grapevines.”</p>
<p>“Sarcastic bitch,” he nibbled on her ear.</p>
<p>She giggled, her hand pressing over his, “Can’t help it.”</p>
<p>“Tell me of the shit men instead.”</p>
<p>“Which shit men?”</p>
<p>“The ones who fucked you badly.”</p>
<p>“God, too many to count.” She breathed deeply, settling against him, warm and complete. “I remember once, I must have been young, he was an early one on the list.”</p>
<p>“Whore.”</p>
<p>“Don’t give me that, jealous little prick.” She dug her nails into the back of his hand.</p>
<p>“Says the woman who complained I’d ‘had sex’ with women before her.”</p>
<p>“That’s different.”</p>
<p>“It always is.”</p>
<p>She turned her head slightly, just enough for her hair to brush his face. “Am I telling the story?”</p>
<p>“Please, carry the fuck on.”</p>
<p>“He hardly moved,” she said, “just lay there, like I was some doll, odd little jerk of his hips.”</p>
<p>“Christ Almighty.”</p>
<p>“I was so inexperienced, I thought ‘is this it then’, quite obviously so not-turned on, one of many times the ceiling has seemed very interesting.”</p>
<p>“Did you have long hair then?”</p>
<p>“Longer than it is now. Yes.”</p>
<p>He pressed his face into it, breathed deeply.</p>
<p>“Don’t start with the hair thing again, I thought we’d got over that.”</p>
<p>“Never. It’ll always be a fantasy.”</p>
<p>“And it’s staying that way.” She suddenly jerked forward in his arms, “Christ, I’m fifty-nine!” She lifted her head up, strained to turn and face him. “I’m fifty-fucking-nine. In less than a year now I’ll be officially old.”</p>
<p>He chuckled, pressed his hands to her arms, “Happy Birthday,” he said, bringing her down so he could kiss her.</p>
<p>“Oh god.” She groaned, mock crying as she pressed her face into his chest.</p>
<p>“There, there,” he patted her back, “we’ll have fun today.”</p>
<p>“Yes, cheer me up,” she lifted her face to his again, “tell me something nice.”</p>
<p>“Like you’re beautiful?” He kissed her forehead.</p>
<p>“Yes. That.”</p>
<p>“And you’re the smartest person I know?” Another kiss.</p>
<p>“A-ha.”</p>
<p>“And I love you very much?”</p>
<p>“That most of all.”</p>
<p>He kissed her properly then, holding her body tight against his as his mouth repeatedly claimed hers.</p>
<p>“Tell me what we’re going to do,” she said softly as she laid beside him, facing him on the pillow.</p>
<p>“No surprises?”</p>
<p>“Hmm, maybe some. But where are we going, what have you planned?”</p>
<p>He felt decidedly smug as he faced her, weeks of plotting to try and out-do her family weekend that had celebrated his birthday. It was a fun little game they were playing with each other, and neither one of them ever enjoyed losing. “Chanel,” he said proudly. “Tomorrow morning, shutting the shop for us for a couple of hours.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god!”</p>
<p>“Proper diva behaviour.”</p>
<p>“That’s the most wonderful, Roman I don’t know how you managed that.”</p>
<p>“Charm. Influence. And the promise of spending well. You can deck yourself out in whatever.”</p>
<p>“Oh no, that’s unbelievably generous but I must pay for myself.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “If you insist, but the offer’s there. And your gift too, you remember complaining once about the pearl glasses they had that you could never get your hands on?”</p>
<p>“Few seasons ago, yes.”</p>
<p>“Maybe they found some.”</p>
<p>“How well you pay attention, I feel bad now for being bitchy with you tonight.”</p>
<p>“Fuck that, I love it. Every second of backhanded slaps – the greatest foreplay.”</p>
<p>She smirks at that, leans into him, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “And then?”</p>
<p>“And then, brunch, sightseeing, see where the day takes us. Easy day. And the evening, wait, do you want any surprises?”</p>
<p>“Tell me.”</p>
<p>“An outdoor place that apparently is very exclusive and has been around forever. Flicked my way through your ancient record collection one Sunday, think I’ve found the kind of thing you’ll enjoy.”</p>
<p> “How spoilt I feel, really Roman, this is wonderfully thoughtful.”</p>
<p>“Well, wanted to show my appreciation, you know, for all the good stuff you give me.”</p>
<p>“I feel it’s a mutually beneficial thing.” She pressed her hands to his shoulders, “So, you’ve never really planned a fucking thing in your life, why this, why for me?”</p>
<p>“Not obvious?” He patted her bottom beneath the sheets, “Three days of having you to myself in Paris, three days of your body and your mouth and your voice.”</p>
<p>Her lips were pursed in a smile, “You’ll make me forget myself and behave foolishly.”</p>
<p>“Good.” He kissed her for the longest time, until she was soft and pliable beneath him, relaxing back into sleep, her dream forgotten.</p>
<p>He lay there afterward holding her, looking to the hints of city lights from the windows, the smell of her skin, the heat of it against his hands. There was a sudden anxiousness in him, filling the pit of his stomach, the kind of childish excitement you get on the verge of experiencing something simultaneously wonderful yet terrifying. He’d thought his actions through a thousand times over the past few weeks, had said his lines, practised the words, and still he had no fucking idea as to how he would broach the subject with her.</p>
<p>It was after four in the morning, and he lay there watching the light in the room change as the sun rose, Gerri sleeping soundly in his arms. Funny, where life takes us.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Gerri wasn’t often stunned. She’d seen pretty much everything life had to offer, from the depraved actions of powerful men to the joyful innocence of a baby taking its first breath of life. There was little that caught her off guard, little she wasn’t prepared for.</p>
<p>Except that afternoon on the bridge.</p>
<p>The day had played out so perfectly, in fact the weekend was shaping up to be the kind of weekend she’d remember forever, look back on fondly for the luxury of his treats and the simplicity of walking the streets of Paris with him.</p>
<p>Her arm hooked through his, feeling deliciously chic – as one does when there – and how easily the extras of life slid away; concerns about the age difference and people staring disappeared as they laughed and flirted their way through the day. His patience as she tried on a hundred outfits contrasted so with his interest in the lingerie department. Jewellery and perfume and a few gifts to be posted to her daughters. It was likely a once-in-a-lifetime thing and she made the most of it.</p>
<p>Not only had he managed to source the elusive ‘pearl sunglasses’, he had them individually engraved – the standard ‘Chanel’ on the outside, and the tiniest of font for ‘Gerri’ along the inner arms. She’d felt like an excitable teen when she’d opened the box, not at all becoming of a woman hurtling past middle age as she threw herself into kissing him her thanks.</p>
<p>Breakfast skipped, they left the store – their buys safely packaged and shipped to the hotel – and there was shakshuka for brunch at Café Méricourt and freshly squeezed juice and buckets of coffee, stronger than the stuff they drank at home, pungent at first taste but they soon became used to it. She added a lump of sugar. He’d be alert for three days on the strength of the caffeine alone.</p>
<p>They bathed in anonymity, traipsing around street markets to pass the time, in and out of boutiques, he convinced her to be touristy and climb the tower, snapping her on his phone at the top despite her protests. They’d bought the standard plastic replica to add to their growing shelf of ‘shit gifts’.</p>
<p>And then crossing the Pont des Arts; the breeze was just upping, her hair catching in it as they’d paused midway to take in the view. The Louvre, distant across the bridge, glowing orange in the afternoon sun; a street artist to their left sketching the river. The chatter of tourists and city dwellers moving through their days.</p>
<p>A couple, still fresh in their love, her leaning against the bridge, him behind her, arms around her, chin on her shoulder as she points something out down river, and he kisses her cheek listening intently.</p>
<p>Roman wishes he could paint. Or write. Or make music. Something eloquent and beautiful to capture the way he felt right then. He closed his eyes as he listened to her, and couldn’t have felt more settled or complete, happiness had seemed such a cruel thing at times, a short sharp snap of a thing that came with a side helping of guilt or regret. But not this. Not with her.</p>
<p>“You want to take in some art?” She asks, which shakes him free of his reverie. “Or should we save it for a rainy day?” She turned to face him, his face near hers, nudging his nose with hers as she teased and his smile was slow and deliberate, hands slipping to her hips to squeeze and hold as he kissed her.</p>
<p>“There used to be love locks on the bridge,” he stated, mouth still near hers, and she turned her head slightly to look down. “They took them off, the weight was damaging the structure.”</p>
<p>“How metaphorical, the weight of love.” She teased, fingers pressing into his back. “Humans, there has to be some physical manifestation or it didn’t exist. Like Juliet’s balcony, covered in graffiti.”</p>
<p>“Never seen it.”</p>
<p>“We’ll go one day,” her hands had drifted up to the back of his neck, fingertips tickling over his skin. “I’ll take you to Verona one summer.”</p>
<p>He liked that; she didn’t often refer to them in the future tense, he rested in that image for a moment, the thought of travelling through Italy with her, maybe Capri, maybe even a month sailing the Mediterranean. He lived for future days like that, when there was no rush, no work, no pressing family crisis to be anxious over. It wasn’t yet, but maybe one day.</p>
<p>“Let’s go have a glass of wine somewhere, just chat, be lazy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he pressed his mouth to hers again, delighting in the sound she made as he did so, the sigh from the back of her throat, the softness of her lips, the silken power of her perfume as it surrounded him.</p>
<p>“I have something for you,” he whispered by her ear, her head turned as she looked over her shoulder back at the Seine.</p>
<p>“Oh?” She sounded amused, a musical lilt to her voice. “I am being spoilt today; I wonder what I’ve done to deserve it.” She turned her face back to his, eyes sparkling with the pleasure of playing this game.</p>
<p>“Goddess in charge of my sexual awakening, you deserve every fucking gift there is.”</p>
<p>She chuckled at that, curling her arms around herself as Roman stepped back from the embrace and took a small box from his pocket. He placed it on the palm of his hand, and she noted how his forearm shook, it surprised her, and she stared at his face. Years of playing the silent backdrop, the observer, meant Gerri was astute at reading men’s faces and preparing an appropriate reaction.</p>
<p>But not this time.</p>
<p>“Oh Roman, that’s the sweetest thing,” she said, taking the box from his hand without thinking. “Saving it all this time.”</p>
<p>His brain raced – confusion sweeping through and then the dawning of it, the understanding that she thought it the ring from last Christmas. When he’d hurt her so very badly and destroyed himself in the process. The ice blue ring he’d kept hidden in the back of the wardrobe. He wanted to speak but his fucking brain couldn’t keep up with events, he needed to slow it down and say the words he’d been thinking about and make it real – as real to her as it was to him.</p>
<p>But she’d flipped open the lid, the glossy red smile slipping just slightly as she looked down. No blue ring. A huge yellow diamond. A fucking huge yellow diamond. Her mouth fell open. Pulse picking up.</p>
<p>“Oh goodness,” she muttered, realisation sharp and fierce. “Oh fuck,” she almost groaned, struggled to breathe just for a second. Then her eyes met his, “Oh Roman, honey….no…”</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>No to which bit? He hadn’t spoken.</p>
<p>“Don’t you like it?”</p>
<p>“What?” She mumbled, disorientated, heart racing as she watched his eyes widen with fear.</p>
<p>“Like <em>it</em>… oh the ring, of course, it’s stunning, it’s… Roman, I can’t.” She softly closed the box, curled her fingers around it as if somehow that might make the entire moment disappear. Only it didn’t, and he was standing there looking at her with such an air of expectation. He suddenly looked so young, so full of longing for something she alone could give. Only she couldn’t.</p>
<p>“I haven’t asked.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.” One hand reached forward, falling over his wrist, “Please, sweetheart.” It was unlike her to use such terms of endearment; she can’t recall one event prior to this where she had ever used language like that towards him but she was trying to be as gentle as she could, and it was in no way natural to her, she would prefer to be abrupt and call him out for being ridiculous and overeager. But she couldn’t be cruel, not when he’d clearly put so much thought into this. Not when his heart was so obviously exposed.</p>
<p>“I love you.” He stated the words, as if some how they answered every question, fixed every crack.</p>
<p>“Ohh,” she sighed, “I know that.” Her fingers tightened around his arm; his skin still warm in the afternoon sunshine. “I know.”</p>
<p>“And I want to marry you,” arms unfolded, hand pulling from her touch as he raked his fingers through his hair, suddenly aware of other humans around them and the chill of the afternoon breeze. “Christ, I’d thought all this through. I had things to say.”</p>
<p>“Rome –,” she caught hold of his hand now, folding her fingers around his so he couldn’t pull away.</p>
<p>“I love you, and I want to always be with you. Make that promise, you know, all that shit.”</p>
<p>“Roman.” She tried again but he was battling on, trying to save face perhaps, clearly trying to claw back what dignity he had.</p>
<p>“Wanted to make it romantic, find the perfect spot.”</p>
<p>“This was, this is,” she stepped in close to him again so she could whisper.</p>
<p>“Then why no? What did I do wrong?”</p>
<p>“You did nothing wrong; it was the perfect romantic spot for it. But not the right person.”</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, Gerri –,” he shook his head, looking away.</p>
<p>“Not you, me. Me.” She said quickly, her words eager and forceful as she sought to make herself understood. “Roman, there’s so many things… I mean, it’s not even been two years, we don’t even live together, and you want to marry?” She was tempted to laugh but didn’t, he seemed so very keen, so very fervent in his intentions. “We’d likely murder each other within a month.”</p>
<p>He didn’t smile.</p>
<p>“I might make you happy.”</p>
<p>“Oh Roman,” she rested her palm on his cheek, fingers warm as they stroked his skin, “you do make me happy. Incredibly so. A ring, a wedding, none of that would change my feelings.”</p>
<p>“What if it made it more?”</p>
<p>“That’s not my experience of marriage, not with mine nor anyone I know.”</p>
<p>“Don’t do that, talk to me like a child.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” she took her hand back. “Roman, I love you very much, and this was such a beautiful lovely thing to do, but no, it can’t possibly be yes, it’s just the wrong time. It’s the wrong time.”</p>
<p>There are clouds after that, a heavy purple sky streaked with grey, and even though she takes his hand as they walk there is silence and distance. She handled it poorly perhaps, she hadn’t realised he’d reached this point, that he’d raced on ahead of her in terms of where they saw the relationship going. She was lagging behind and it was so unlike her to be caught off guard. She was always the one leading, always prepared.</p>
<p>They’re back at the hotel before it rains, and he skulks around the lounge area for a while playing on his phone. He won’t speak. She orders tea, and the appearance of room service is welcome to break the tension.</p>
<p>“Talk to me,” she says as she sits by the window, cup in hand. “Come sit, and we’ll talk.”</p>
<p>“No fucking way,” he sounds like a child and she rolls her eyes; it’s an entirely typical movement from her, she doesn’t even consider that she does it now, until he grunts something and rolls his body around the room like an asshole because she’s pissed him off.</p>
<p>“Listen, I think I need five. Get rid of some energy.”</p>
<p>“Alright…?”</p>
<p>“Gonna work out.”</p>
<p>“Okay. If it helps.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she watches his fingers squeeze around the back of the chair, his knuckles whitening. “Just do an hour, plenty of time before we go for dinner.”</p>
<p>“We’re still going?”</p>
<p>“You don’t want to?” He sounds defensive now, eyes darting over her face.</p>
<p>“Of course I want to. Roman –,”</p>
<p>“Yeah, so, that’s fine. I’ll change and fuck off for a bit. Hide my head in shame.”</p>
<p>She can’t even be bothered to reply to that because he’s having a typical ‘Roy’ reaction to being told ‘no’, because that so rarely happened in their bubble-like world. So she taps into her phone, reads through her emails and replies to birthday wishes, ignores the way he slinks out and leaves her alone. It’s raining and she hopes it’s a passing shower because she wanted to walk to the restaurant tonight if possible, be out on the streets with him, enjoy the last of those late summer evenings when it was still light enough and warm enough to enjoy being out before Autumn kicked in.</p>
<p>She calls her daughters when he’s gone, starts a group chat and shows them the suite and her surroundings and the gifts he so generously gave and mentions nothing of the fact she was just proposed to. That her heart still hasn’t slowed from that, standing there with this man she had fallen so overwhelmingly in love with and having him offer up his world and saying no. It wasn’t really thought of, it was instinctive, and she didn’t regret it because it wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right, and she feared she wouldn’t be able to explain that to him and somehow there’d be a distance between them now because he couldn’t reconcile the way they were together with the fact she said no.</p>
<p>He is gone longer than an hour, the rain ceases and she sits on the balcony reading and enjoying the freshness of the afternoon. She is styling her hair in her underwear and robe when he finally re-emerges, hanging off the side of the bedroom door and watching her at the dressing table.</p>
<p>“Hey…” he is sweaty and red-faced.</p>
<p>She put down the curlers, watched him in the mirror, “Hey. You came back. I’d started to wonder if you’d caught the first flight out.”</p>
<p>“Hardly. Wouldn’t do that to you.”</p>
<p>She isn’t sure, some scars don’t just disappear. “We’re okay?” She asks, head tilted to one side as she looks at him.</p>
<p>“Yeah. We’re okay.”</p>
<p>She nods, “You best shower then, no offence.”</p>
<p>“None taken.” He tugs his t-shirt up over his head and she still stares at his torso, still remembers the time he paraded in front of her as he threw out ideas to raise money, how long ago it seems now, how young he seemed then.</p>
<p>“Where are we going, by the way? I wouldn’t mind walking.”</p>
<p>“I’ll cancel the car.”</p>
<p>“So… do I get to know?”</p>
<p>He is naked now, leaning over her shoulder, kissing her cheek. “Surprise.”</p>
<p>“I need to know what level of money is involved before I decide which dress.”</p>
<p>He chuckles at that, moves her hair to kiss her again, “One of the oldest, most famous Jazz clubs in the city. Dinner. Dancing, if I get you drunk enough.”</p>
<p>Her mouth twists into a smile, lifting her hand to touch his face as she watches him kiss her neck. “Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>As he fills their table with food and drink, she recognises his actions for the eager, flamboyant things that they are – a way to make up for his clumsiness earlier, to try and skate over how hurt he clearly feels about the whole thing. There’s numerous cocktails to try and he orders one of each to follow the other as they drink; a cheese platter, a cold meat one, crispy shrimp and pickles and toasts and it’s enjoyable to eat this way. She’s accustomed to formal dinners, using the right cutlery, polite small talk between courses and tiny portions and nothing spills on your dress. Roman moves between dishes quickly and with ease and he’s always been this way at dinner with her, even as far back as Tokyo, tasting everything, sharing everything with her, ordering more of what they enjoy. It’s still exhilarating to her that he moves at such speed, his brain never settling, and no wonder he failed so spectacularly at military school because he is so unbelievably packed full of energy that he never stopped and he hated following orders; if he was still like this at almost forty, Christ knows what he must have been like at sixteen – a spinning top.</p>
<p>An hour in she’s feeling lightheaded from the speedy consumption of alcohol, the band has been playing all night and occasionally people get up and dance in the square and she’s glad the day dried up and its pleasantly warm – though the alcohol is helping. After ten a young women joins them to sing, and they sit side-by-side listening, her head on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Not your usual type of thing?” She whispers, her hand on his thigh.</p>
<p>“I told you before, I’d rather be sitting here with you than in some dark, noisy club trying to find someone to hang with who’s not there for the money or to sell stories about how tiny my dick is.”</p>
<p>Her fingers squeeze gently, “I like being here, makes you forget about things.”</p>
<p>“Almost like New York doesn’t exist,” he rests his chin on her head, because the fragrance of her hair remains the most intoxicating thing he’s ever encountered. “We need a longer break. That beach and that water and your red dress seem a lifetime ago.”</p>
<p>“I can’t see that happening this side of Christmas.”</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah, and Christmas with my mother.” He groaned, “You still up for that? Or is that like,” he turned his attention to the singer again, feigning distraction, in actuality struggling to find the right tone. The right question.</p>
<p>“If you still want me there at Christmas, Roman, I’ll be there.”</p>
<p>“Regardless of the fact she’ll fuck you over.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, kinda expecting that. Spend a lot of time at that pub you paid for, how about that for a plan?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he smiled at the way her mind worked, “Maybe New Year then, or am I thinking too far ahead?”</p>
<p>She’s too calm and too astute to take the bait, partly because she wants to be clear-headed when they do have this talk, partly because she doesn’t want to do it there, outside a gorgeous venue as the flavour of a Parisian evening sets around them.</p>
<p>“A New Year break would be nice.”</p>
<p>“A week with my mother we deserve a fucking injection of coke straight to the brain.”</p>
<p>“Shit, a week.” She sat forward, reaching for the latest cocktail he’d ordered and taking a sip, it was smoother than some of the others he’d chosen, and she leant back still holding it. “Okay, so we definitely deserve a week somewhere.”</p>
<p>“You ski, right?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t in a while, but yes, I can ski. Of a sort. I’m in no way going to live up to your flamboyance, no doubt you’ll be throwing yourself down the side of some mountain on a board.”</p>
<p>“I can do that when you’re tucked up in the cabin reading.” He flips his phone from his pocket and she half watches as he reels off an email to his assistant to research options and send them over to him asap.</p>
<p>“You want dessert.”</p>
<p>“Er, of course, it’s my birthday. But let’s dance first, hey, otherwise I might regret the very large piece of chocolate something I’m going to consume.” She takes another drink then hands the glass to him, licking the liquor from her lips, “Besides, I like this song.”</p>
<p>Neither one of them has ever been a fan of dancing, especially not publicly, but maybe that’s what love does, or units of alcohol, or Paris, because they dance non-stop, swinging around with the other couples and laughing together – the sharpness of the afternoon forgotten. Until the music slows as the hour turns late, and he presses her body against his and moves with the slowing rhythm. And there’s no better feeling on earth. No drug more powerful or consuming than her being in his arms.</p>
<p>Stupid little Roman Roy, the weakest of the lot, can’t put together a house party, let alone manage a business. But she believed in him and life changed and now he can hardly even remember that kid from years past; that person seems like a shadow of a memory. Five years ago he couldn’t even imagine feeling whole, let alone together enough to be able to love someone the way he does her.</p>
<p>But she said no. And that stings.</p>
<p>“Can we have make up sex now? Forget I’m a total dick?” He breathes by her ear and she smirks.</p>
<p>“No amount of sex could make me forget that,” she teased, but then she pressed her hands to his shoulders, nails tickling the back of his neck. “But yes, let’s walk back, make the most of that divine bed in the divine suite.”</p>
<p>He pulls his head back, takes in her expression, “Get your cake to go?”</p>
<p>She nods, and he dutifully carries the patisserie box all the way back to the hotel.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Sorry, you know, for messing up your birthday.” He says in the bedroom when they’re changing.</p>
<p>“Messing it up?” she is seated, pulling off her shoes by the heel, and he absently wonders how she managed to walk in them, let alone dance. “Fuck Roman, it’s up there as one of the best Birthday celebrations I’ve had. Beats a mid-week meal and rolling up for work the next day feeling like death.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he did well until the misjudged proposal turned it to shit.”</p>
<p>“Oh goodness, Rome, is that what you think?” She dropped her shoes to the floor. “Anytime someone proposes to you it’s wonderful, it’s nice to feel wanted! And it was the sweetest, most tender way to do it. Don’t feel bad about that, it hasn’t upset me, it was lovely.”</p>
<p>“But clearly not lovely enough.”</p>
<p>“It’s not the way you asked, I’m just not there yet.”</p>
<p>“Will you ever be?”</p>
<p>She shrugged, and it made his heart pull in his chest.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be. Clearly I think too far ahead. Christ, nothing worse than a sympathy fuck, let alone marrying me because you feel bad.” He plonked himself on the edge of the bed, peeling open his shirt buttons. “Plenty would, you know, I mean like plenty would marry me for the money alone.”</p>
<p>“I know.” She sat back in the chair, crossing her legs, the glitter dress riding up her thighs.</p>
<p>“Like, I could probably get married next week if I wanted.”</p>
<p>“I have no doubt.”</p>
<p>“I’m a bankable option.”</p>
<p>She laughed at that, “But you won’t though, right?”</p>
<p>“Clearly not. Because it fucking kills me to be away from you and your bed for more than forty-eight hours. Got me over a fucking barrel, wicked witch that you are.”</p>
<p>“I planned it all so craftily.” She smiled, tapped her nails on the arm of the chair. “That’s an issue, though, forty-eight hours, if we go Friday to Friday without time alone. Whatcha gonna do?”</p>
<p>“Yeah well, was gonna mention that too, but I’m all out of ‘make a prick of yourself’ cards to ask.”</p>
<p>Her elbows are resting on the edge of the chair, hands folded in front of her stomach now as she watches him stand and slip his trousers off, and she is entertained by this, feels herself floating on top of the conversation and wallowing in the pleasure of it.</p>
<p>“Ask.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Ask what you want to ask but daren’t.”</p>
<p>He feels nervous now, reluctant to open himself up again if she’s only going to shoot him down – twice in one day isn’t doable, even for a Roy. But she’s looking at him in such a way it’s like a magnet drawing him into her.</p>
<p>“That we might live together?” He bolts, like an overeager puppy desperate for the right attention.</p>
<p>“Yes. And I might say yes.”</p>
<p>He pauses here, pushes back the sheets on the bed and discards the extra cushions on the floor nonchalantly, as if he isn’t really tuned into what she’s saying. It’s a silly game to play when his heart is all tangled up in this but then again he’s never done things the right way, try as he might.</p>
<p>“We’re talking New York, right?” he checks. “Not my bullshit kid idea of buying a country house.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s bullshit neither, I think it’s something you actually really want, but as with everything we really want we play it loosely and hope it’ll work itself out, no better than children,” she pauses there, giving him time to absorb that. “But I’m open to pursuing that, as I said. We can look. It might take a while to find something that suits us both, but there’s no rush with that. But yes, on the other thing, I realised you meant New York.”</p>
<p>He is facing her now, because this feels serious and his legs are shaking. “And you’d live with me? Live together, I mean?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I would.”</p>
<p>“Like, now, not in the future?” He grapples for confirmation as if she’s handing him the world.</p>
<p>She laughs at that, gets up and turns her back to him, “Unzip me.”</p>
<p>He does so, runs his thumb over her skin, over the clasp of her bra, presses kisses to her skin because he can’t help but touch her.</p>
<p>“Yes, Roman, I will live with you now. Or at least try it, see how we get on.”</p>
<p>When she turns his eyes are smiling but it doesn’t reach his mouth. He is nervous, aware that at any moment she could say something to break the mood, tear it all away.</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“Well, purely in terms of power dynamics and me never wanting to concede anything, I would suggest my place…” she gives him a half smile, “…but your apartment is about four times bigger. So, it makes sense, I guess, for it to be yours.”</p>
<p>“And, you’d be okay with that?”</p>
<p>“I’ll hardly be slumming it now, will I?” She laughed. “But I might keep mine, not let it go just yet, because it was hard to get in the first place.”</p>
<p>“I understand that. Security and shit.” His hands are on her now, busy pushing down the sleeves of her dress and working it down her body. “You know you can do what you like, decoration and what have you. Renovations. Redesign. There’s plenty of dead space to convert, I mean you’ll want a bathroom just for you, dressing room, closet, office. Anything you need.”</p>
<p>She pressed her finger to his lips, “Roman, we can work all that out in time. No need to rush. I’m not going anywhere; I keep telling you that. You don’t need to buy me to keep me.”</p>
<p>He nodded, swallowing awkwardly, still feeling like a kid at times when around her, like Alice lost in some wondrous world he doesn’t fully understand. “Gonna feel a right prick taking that ring back, designed it you know, I did put in a bit of effort.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, “Don’t be pathetic.” She chastised, squeezing his backside. “Though I am very grateful for all of the effort, sooo,” she bit her lip, pressing against him, “Maybe don’t return it <em>just</em> yet, maybe.” Her eyes widened.</p>
<p>“Maybe…?”</p>
<p>“Maybe just hold onto it, for now. Keep it safe.”</p>
<p>His mind is blurred, whirring. He thought he was hard to keep up with, she is more so.</p>
<p>“Okay…?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t answer the question in his voice, the lilting upward tone, only kisses him. And this is where life slows down, because she can do things with her tongue that leave him panting, and he never really cared for kissing before. Nor any other of the ‘normal’ aspects of lovemaking. If he could make it subversive in some way, twist around the mechanics of it all, then he’d feel halfway comfortable. Almost like torturing himself because nothing he ever had or did was normal, so why should physical contact with another human being be any different? Past girlfriends either put up with the weirdness of it all or left. Money can do a lot.</p>
<p>But she’s brought him out of that, and now there is nothing more satisfying than undressing her and loving her. He walks her backwards, presses her against the wall so he can push his body flush to hers, feel every inch of her skin touching his. His fingers slide so easily down and between her thighs and he’s still amazed she lets him touch her, stimulating her until she’s moaning his name, and that’s his favourite part of this whole game – the sound of his name in that watercolour misty tone she has that makes his balls ache. It shouldn’t still have this effect, reason tells him he should be moving forward, but he’s stuck on that wanton desire for her like an old soul record – her voice is like the crackle of the vinyl, it adds some intoxicating element that lacks reason and formula, but Christ knows you want to play it repeatedly.</p>
<p>When he lifts her up her hands grasp his shoulders, fingers splayed as her legs curl around him and she gasps slightly at the movement, because god knows she wants every bit of this but her damned knee aches. He’s already pressing inside of her but she stops him with a sharp hand to his back.</p>
<p>“Not like this,” she whispers, and he nuzzles her neck, moves up to her mouth and devours her like she’s water after a drought. “My knee,” she complains and he groans his understanding, hands beneath her bottom as he carries her the short distance to the bed, the pair of them laughing as they topple backward.</p>
<p>“Like this instead?” He mumbles, pressing languid kisses to her breasts, marvelling at the softness of them as they fill his hands, at the way her nipple hardens against his tongue as he strokes it.</p>
<p>“When do I get my cake?” She suddenly asks, a hand raking through his hair, nails just that bit too sharp against his scalp.</p>
<p>“Fuck the cake.” He slides off the edge of the bed, manoeuvring himself just enough so he has perfect leverage over her, palms working their way up her legs – she has this thing that when he tickles beneath her knees her legs jerk upward and it brings him the tiniest hint of power – as much as you can have power when in the presence of Gerri Kellman – because he knows how she’ll react and he thinks of all those people who work with her, who think they know her, and they have no idea of her ticklish spots.</p>
<p>“You’re so sensitive,” he tells her.</p>
<p>“Coming from you that’s saying something,” her hand is seeking his and he slides his fingers around hers, his mouth on her belly. It’s so rare they get the time completely alone, no in-coming calls or emails, no setting of the alarm before sex because she has an early meeting or he’s go to fly out somewhere. So he languishes in this, tongue tripping over skin until her body is humming in pleasure beneath him, so that when he finally slides inside her she’s so deliciously wet for him its overwhelming.</p>
<p>“I love how much you want me,” his mouth is on her collarbone, sliding back and forth as his hips take on the same rhythm, slow, back and forth.</p>
<p>“Searching for compliments,” she says, but the steel she would want in her voice for a comment like that is missing, because he’s moving so surely and steadily and she can feel that sweet tension coiling in her stomach. He’s making love to her, and the deep-rooted sensuality of that is irresistible. She fleetingly thinks of that afternoon, the earnest expression on his face, his eyes wide as he wordlessly held that proposal out to her, handing her everything he had.</p>
<p>“I love you,” she gasps and his mouth covers her.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“How many fucking proposals you had, anyhow?” He asks, humour to his tone, as he moves back to the bed.</p>
<p>She’s unwrapping the pastry box, removing the pink ribbon, flattening it out around the layers of chocolate cake sitting in the middle. “A couple, maybe.”</p>
<p>“Show off.”</p>
<p>She shrugged, “Do you want me to tell you, yours was the best?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he pours deep red wine, hands her a glass before kneeling by her feet, folding his legs beneath him.</p>
<p>“It was,” she sips her drink, “this is good. You serious about the wine cellar?”</p>
<p>“Don’t shift the focus on the subject, mine’s the best.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, replacing her wine glass for a fork and slicing off a chunk of the cake, thick chocolate mousse on the top, curled like waves rushing to shore. “Dear lord this is good, I don’t think I want to share.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s after midnight, so I can stop being nice to you, birthday over.”</p>
<p>“Spoilsport,” but she held the fork out to him anyhow and watched as he licked the mousse from his bottom lip. “You’re right. Pretty damn good. So, proposals.”</p>
<p>“How many have you had?”</p>
<p>“None, so I win on that score.”</p>
<p>“A win is a win, I guess. Three for me, including yours, that I recall.”</p>
<p>“Who other than Baird?”</p>
<p>“A boyfriend, we were too young, he was too foolish. It wasn’t going anywhere and I knew that.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” he flopped onto his back, and she recognised that pout of frustration.</p>
<p>“Don’t sulk, and don’t draw connections when there aren’t any. You and I are going somewhere, you do realise sharing the same living space is a big deal for me.” She leans over him then, feeding him more cake, her hair falling around her face.</p>
<p>“Big deal for me too,” he splutters as he chews.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, your last three girlfriends have lived in that apartment, I’m the latest in a long line. If anyone should be sulking it’s me.”</p>
<p>“You’re joking, aren’t you? Because I don’t have the energy to explain that whole shitsville situation, how I invite houseguests and shower gifts so I’m not alone and seen to be doing the right, ‘normal’ thing?"</p>
<p>“I rather thought that, yes,” the cake is gone and she plonks the box on the bedside table, taking her wine glass instead and leaning back against the mound of pillows. “You live with them because you think that’s what people in relationships do, I’m rather hoping the want to live with me is based on something more concrete.”</p>
<p>“Like wanting access to you every moment of every day?” He sits up quickly at her expression, cutting her off before she can comment. “Look, Gerri, I can concede I made a mistake with the proposal. Moved too fast. But maybe I didn’t want to be the childish one anymore, Peter Pan, maybe I wanted to do something real.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t get more real than marriage,” she licked her lips clean of the wine, felt the strength of it going to her head.</p>
<p>“I don’t like to fail.” He said. “Feel like a failure now.”</p>
<p>“You can’t always win, besides, I’m not sure how I feel about being cast as something to ‘win’, I’m not a fucking game.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I meant,” he flipped his body over, moving to lay beside her on his stomach, chin resting on her chest as he looked up at her. “Want to live with you because I want to share my life with you, and don’t fucking mock that.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t.” Her fingers toyed with his hair. “You know technically you’ve proposed to me twice now.”</p>
<p>“Well, proposal one was a shitstorm of an effort, though I should just have kidnapped you back then, would’ve sped things right up.”</p>
<p>“Yes forcing me to live with you, the romance, like Bluebeard.”</p>
<p>“I don’t get that.”</p>
<p>“I’ll get you the book.”</p>
<p>“Fuck that, I’ll google it.” His arm shot out for his phone and she grabbed his wrist.</p>
<p>“Not now, hey.” She smiled.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, hopefully proposal two was an improvement.”</p>
<p>“It was.”</p>
<p>“Maybe by the time I pluck up the courage – and that won’t be for a long time because I’m motherfucking terrified of asking now – but if I do, if I did, maybe third time will be lucky.”</p>
<p>She held his gaze, amused by him, eyes shining as she slowly took a drink, “Maybe.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Cheerleader</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were three meetings that Friday, all across the city, and his car gets stuck in traffic on the return to his apartment, he texts Gerri to apologise for being late and closes his eyes, laying his head back as they crawl homeward. It’s not like him to be so tired, but then again it’s not like him to be working so hard neither.</p>
<p>They are deep into Autumn now, as a child he disliked it because it meant a return to school, a separation from his siblings. Boarding had never come easily to Roman; labelled the runt of the litter from as early as he can recall, school meant using his mouth to get noticed, the odd beating from a bigger lad who he insulted, a backhander from his father every time he was sent home with a negative report and negotiations were made to get him back in. It had formed the blueprint for his life it seemed. Still a runt. Still overlooked by most. The joking fool of a boy.</p>
<p>This Autumn he’s reminded of where he was the previous year, of his excitement at the newness of their relationship, his foolish belief that their very different worlds could so easily blend and everyone in their lives would just accept it. Still a boy at times. Shopping with her and dragging her into bars. His stupid, short-sighted actions that still sting.</p>
<p>When he opens the door to his apartment there’s this warmth now, something beyond mere heat, when he knows she’s there and she’ll be plodding around in stocking-clad feet and he loves that image because of its quaintness – despite the fact she usually starts the evening by biting his head off concerning the renovations or he finds her berating some poor chump over the phone or complaining about the fact her staff are inefficient. But even then, he loves it all.</p>
<p>He drops his jacket in the hall and kicks his shoes off, tugging his shirt free from his trousers as he moves through the spacious rooms and finds her in the kitchen. There’s music playing and she’s moving along with the beat, hips swaying, and that’s surprising because it’s a first, and he’s pleased they still have firsts.</p>
<p>She doesn’t hear him come in and there’s a quaint pleasure in that too, watching her as she fusses with something at the stove. He was wrong about the stockings, they’re gone, she’s wearing loose trousers and something soft and cashmere-like is wrapped around her and he feels like she’s a present he’d like to take his time unwrapping and bury himself in.</p>
<p>She spots him when she leans over to take something from the fridge and jerks her chin down as she looks at him over the top of her glasses. “Hi. Did you part the traffic like the red sea?”</p>
<p>“Something like that. Are you cooking? Nobody ever cooks in my kitchen apart from the caterers.”</p>
<p>“Figures,” she turns back to the stove and he moves behind her, chin on her shoulder, hands at her waist.</p>
<p>“Five weeks in and she’s domesticating things.”</p>
<p>“I’m heating the sauce; it’s hardly cordon bleu.”</p>
<p>She turns her head then, her mouth catching the edge of his.</p>
<p>“You were late, so things had to be saved. I ordered entrees from all of your favourite places.”</p>
<p>“What?” He chuckled. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s your favourite bit of the meal.” She shifts the saucepan from the heat, turning it off and shuffling round in his arms. “You said a Friday night at home, too tired, get takeout. So, I did. Because it’s like having an old man now who never takes me out anymore.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit,” he stroked her nose with his, “I’d take you anywhere you wanna go. How you get away early?”</p>
<p>“I’m fucking the boss,” she stated nonchalantly, “there have to be some perks.”</p>
<p>He squeezes her backside at that, and she momentarily sways on her tiptoes as they kiss.</p>
<p>The longer you are with someone, the more you know, it’s the logical conclusion of things. But living with someone, that’s the true test of commitment and patience. And he had thought, or rather worried, that once they took this step it would somehow mess things up – she’d realise what a shallow dick he was, in case she didn’t already know, and discreetly back away. But it’s still working. And it’s still fun.</p>
<p>“Did you see the contractors?” He asked, letting her down, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and drinking half down quickly.</p>
<p>“Gone when I got home, not been back that long to be honest.” She takes out a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, lets him open it as she prepares the food.</p>
<p>They’ve eaten together at countless restaurants now, and what she's come to realise is that for Roman the entrees often beat the main meal. She’s set them up on the coffee table in front of the fire, there’s a chill in the city air these days but its pleasant there, a relaxing meal instead of the formal sit-down affairs. He changes, joins her on cushions on the floor and she watches as he picks his way through the selection.</p>
<p>“So, you check out what they’ve done?” He asks, biting an egg roll in half.</p>
<p>“I peeked inside but it looks like bare walls and dust, so I closed the door. One more week and I’ll snap some dicks off if things haven’t progressed.”</p>
<p>“Guard dog.”</p>
<p>“They said it would be done well before Christmas –,”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and we paid more for that.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. I don’t like being jerked around, as well you know.”</p>
<p>He laughed, took a sip of his wine, watched as she moved herself around and grimaced as she stretched out her leg.</p>
<p>“That fucking knee,” he commented, “it’s been weeks, this bastard not doing his job right?”</p>
<p>“He’s good, it’s just going to take time.” She sipped her wine, leaning back against the couch. “Things take longer to heal when your bones are older.”</p>
<p>“But she likes to bone.”</p>
<p>“Fucking hilarious.” Her phone flashed on the corner of the coffee table and she reached for it, turning it to face her.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” He glanced across as she scrolled her thumb across the message and then tapped out a quick reply. “Nobody.” She put her phone on the couch behind her. “Frank.”</p>
<p>“Oh, what he want?” He was flicking through his own phone searching for movie options for later in the evening, for something he hoped she hadn’t seen but would be engrossed in. “Hey? You two sexting?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I just gave him the thumbs up to a close up of his balls.”</p>
<p>“That’s my treat, not his.” He laughed. “So, not an issue, is there?”</p>
<p>“No. He just checks in every now and then.”</p>
<p>This piqued his interest, and not in a positive way, something cold was creeping into his belly and he put his phone down, “Oh? <em>Checks in?</em> In what way?” He was looking up at her again, studying her face as she chewed on her lip. “Is it me? You mean he checks in with you to report on me?”</p>
<p>She rolled her lips together, “It’s not like that.”</p>
<p>“Holy shit, it fucking well is, isn’t it? Feedback on me.”</p>
<p>“He was just letting me know you did well today, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell would he need to do that? And don’t bullshit me.”</p>
<p>She didn’t respond to that, but the raised eyebrow indicated her patience would not be limitless.</p>
<p>He threw down his chopstick, “So you er, Jesus, you spying on me, Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Fuck all else to do with my time.” She refilled their glasses.</p>
<p>“Don’t fuck about with me on this.”</p>
<p>“Rome –,”</p>
<p>“You’re just like him, think I can’t do my fucking job.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I said, and you need to stop using that tone with me.” She took another drink, gave him time to dial it back a little. “Roman, I would be lacking if I didn’t keep tabs on both you and Kendall. This has nothing at all to do with our relationship, if anything that just… well, complicates things.”</p>
<p>“Oh well, I’m sorry I’m getting in the fucking way of you plotting with Frank.”</p>
<p>“Don’t!” She snapped, “that is not what’s happening and you’re being an asshole right now. You don’t think it makes me feel uncomfortable, because of course it does. I care about you; in a perfect world I wouldn’t be dating someone I work with. But both of us have had to find a way around that. I thought we had – or have I dreamt the past few months.”</p>
<p>He enjoyed admitting he was wrong just about as much as she did; though when it came to it maybe she was just the slightest bit more stubborn.</p>
<p>He shook his head; he knew how much progress they’d made.</p>
<p>“Frank and I have done this for a long time, our loyalty is to Waystar, that’s who we work for.”</p>
<p>“Right. Yeah. Not to me.”</p>
<p>“Roman,” she sat forward, wishing she was closer so she could touch him; he always calmed when she touched him. “You know my loyalty is to you, but I will not explain myself when I’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t ruin Friday night.”</p>
<p>“You’re so fucking hard at times.” He shook his head, looking away from her face.</p>
<p>She licked her lips, softened her voice, “Frank said it went well, today.”</p>
<p>“Fucking straightforward.”</p>
<p>She twisted her mouth, “He said the first one was challenging but you handled it well.”</p>
<p>“He’s a fucking backstabbing snake.”</p>
<p>“No, he isn’t.” She tapped her hand against the table. “And you know that really, otherwise you wouldn’t be working so well with him these days.”</p>
<p>“You’re such a fucking head-screw.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Take it up with your shrink.”</p>
<p>He actually smiled at that.</p>
<p>“You okay now?”</p>
<p>“You make me feel a bit messy, to be honest.” He shrugged, petulantly.</p>
<p>“That’s how I like to make men feel.”</p>
<p>He smirked at that.</p>
<p>“Eat up, and choose a movie before I lose my temper with you.”</p>
<p>“You’re a harsh, hard woman.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but then you already knew that.” She touched his fingers now where they sat upon the table; she should be harsh with him, should be punishing him for being such an overreacting child. But there was something that made her soft towards him, “Roman, you know you have my loyalty, don’t you?”</p>
<p>He shrugged again, turning a chopstick over on the table, “Yeah. I guess.”</p>
<p>“Haven’t I proved it by now? I never sold you out, even when you…” she paused here, because reminding herself of the fact he once broke her heart was still somewhat sharp. “…Even when we broke up,” she settled on, “I asked for you to be safe.”</p>
<p>“But haven’t I proved that shit too, on the yacht and then again when…”</p>
<p>“This isn’t a competition, that’s not what I meant. I mean that sometimes, countless times, we’re going to clash on business matters because my opinion differs from yours. And yes, when you – or any of your siblings, truth be told – are out handling a multi-million-dollar deal then I will want to be informed of every little detail. I can’t help that. I won’t apologise for it. And you can’t be a cunt towards me because of it. Sulking.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sulking.”</p>
<p>“Yeah that face screams calm complacency.”</p>
<p>He moved onto his knees, “It’s not that, it’s the fact you and Frank were talking secretly, okay. That’s what bothered me. I don’t want us to have secrets and I certainly don’t want you to have them with Frank.”</p>
<p>“Jealousy is not something I indulge neither,” she warned. “But you are the only one who knows the secrets that really matter.” She left that with him, refilled her plate and started to eat again.</p>
<p>“That was our first fight since you moved in,” he stated later.</p>
<p>“I guess it was. And it was about work, not the fact you can’t seem to turn a damn light off when you’re done in a room.”</p>
<p>“You set the alarm for four-fucking-thirty every morning. You might as well not go to bed!”</p>
<p>“Fuck you.”</p>
<p>He laughed at that. “You do other shit too, shit I like.” He admitted.</p>
<p>“Oh?” She tilted her chin up, glad the conversation had moved in a different direction.</p>
<p>“These flowers everywhere, vases of white flowers everywhere. I don’t know who the fuck does it and when, but I like it.”</p>
<p>“That’s good.”</p>
<p>“And the bathrooms smell different. And I think you changed the quilt on our bed.”</p>
<p>“Well, someone did. The one you had was truly terrible.” She smiled at him, “Surprisingly, I rather like living here, with you.”</p>
<p>“I should fucking well think so,” he exclaimed, throwing back a third of a glass of wine.</p>
<p>Roman is asleep before they make it halfway through the movie, curled on the couch with his head in her lap and her fingers stroking through his hair. He is exhausting but it’s unlike him to be exhausted and sleep so early in the evening. She watches the movie purely because now invested she needs to know the outcome. But she has never been very good at relaxing, her mind doesn’t stop, she has to be forced to go to the theatre or opera or a recital because the want to tap on her phone and read and reply to emails or scan the news is too inviting. The beach and a book are usually her only real avenue to switching off.</p>
<p>So, she is focussed half on the screen and half on Roman – because sleeping there on her makes her think of three things: one, that try as he might he still reacts to things in a wholly emotional, uncensored way and he really needs to reign that in more. Two, that he’s a man, and he’s been working hard all week, which five years ago would probably have meant the world was about to implode. But now he’s focussed, he wants to succeed, to prove himself. Which leads to thought three – that he might not need her for much longer. The messages from Frank were glowing, the deal he’d put together over the past few weeks impressive, and she had very little to do with it. This was all Roman, and Frank on the side lines, and she is proud of him but can’t tell him that now because of how awkward the whole thing seems. But the reality is it brings with it a hint of fear, because if he’s grown in confidence and ability so much over the past two years then why the hell would he keep needing her?</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>She is rubbing hand cream in as she comes down the short corridor to their bedroom – she is still using one of the guest bathrooms and she thinks about how on the other side of the wall she’s passing they’re meant to be crafting her bathroom, her dressing room, and bit-by-bit his apartment will become ‘their apartment’ and as much her home as his. She glances to the side table, the one he’s crowned ‘Gerri corner’ and lined it with photographs of their time together. She usually ignores it, because focussing on pictures of herself has never really been a pleasurable experience. But there’s a new one now, some shot of her he snapped mid-word, her mouth open, face animated.</p>
<p>“What the fuck is this about?” She asks carrying it into the bedroom.</p>
<p>He is laying naked and dozy on top of the sheets, half-asleep, but he chuckles anyway. “So, you spotted it.”</p>
<p>“This is a terrible picture, why would you save this let alone frame it?”</p>
<p>“You look gorgeous, your hair looks gorgeous.”</p>
<p>“My mouth is wide open; I look like I’m auditioning to give blow jobs.”</p>
<p>“I can write a reference if you like.”</p>
<p>“Roman,” she throws the photo onto the bed. “That one isn’t staying.”</p>
<p>“Ah come on, it’s been there for over three weeks now.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I was waiting to see how long it took you to spot it.”</p>
<p>“You’re an asshole.”</p>
<p>“It’s a funny picture. I could get it enlarged.”</p>
<p>“How about no sex for three weeks as punishment.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got Frank for that, you’ll be alright.”</p>
<p>She pulled a face that made his balls shrink up inside him.</p>
<p>“Too early to be funny?”</p>
<p>“Yes, too fucking early to ever be funny.” She threw her robe at him, walked around the bed and climbed into her side. “Idiot.”</p>
<p>He was still laughing as he stood the picture on his bedside table. “Babe, come on.”</p>
<p>“And I’m sure I’ve asked repeatedly for you not to call me babe,” she said, turning her lamp off and sending them into darkness.</p>
<p>“You like it really,” his hand slipped over her waist, head resting against her arm. “It’s cute, when we’re alone.”</p>
<p>“I’m not twelve.” But she tilted her head down and met his mouth with hers, kissing him slowly, sleepily.</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m not much use tonight,” he yawned, holding her tighter. “Will be back in action forthwith.”</p>
<p>“Unless the picture is still there, then I shut up shop.”</p>
<p>“It’s L.A. next week though, you haven’t forgotten?”</p>
<p>“I saw it in my diary. Yes.”</p>
<p>“You are going to come? It’s only two days, one night for you. Come on.”</p>
<p>She had never been a fan of the whole LA scene, and even less so now given her age and the preoccupation of the film industry with youth and cocktail-stick figures. She exhaled, though it turned into more of a huff as she thought of travelling, taking time away for something of so little relevance to sit with people she didn’t know, and would probably like even less.</p>
<p>“I’ll be there,” she said, closing her eyes, feeling his head slip further down to rest against her breasts. “I need to find a dress for this premiere though. Big deal?”</p>
<p>“Fairly,” he pressed kisses into her chest, the palm of his hand skating over her nipple, feeling it through the silk of her pyjamas. “Up and coming writer, I believe, some new pairing between him and the director, lot of buzz about it.”</p>
<p>“Alright. I will try my very best to pay attention and not play on my phone.”</p>
<p>“I will placate you with Martinis,” he mumbled and then he was asleep again and she lay for a long time holding him, wondering just when the pair of them crossed a line where it was perfectly acceptable to hold each other in bed at night, not to retreat to either side as they had done with previous lovers. Sometimes she used to wake and find someone holding her and feel utterly uncomfortable, climb out of bed and hide in the bathroom until she re-emerged as Gerri in a business suit. Now she would wake to find Roman curled up behind her, an arm over her waist, or her head on his chest, comfortable and settled.</p>
<p>She <em>was</em> settled here. She was settled with him. But there had been this niggling since she’d moved in, like waiting for the other shoe to drop; he was so competent these days, riding this wave of success, and his confidence continued to grow. And something about that worried her, though she was reluctant to really pinpoint what – she’d never been the type of woman to have insecurities when it came to relationships, and now, with Roman, it was like experiencing first after first.</p>
<p>They got along so well, could chat for hours or sit in silence or laugh over the same joke. Their sex life had been amazing, continued to be, but there was always the concern there that her physicality would ebb so much quicker than his. She wasn’t so shallow to think he wouldn’t look elsewhere if needed, and when the time came perhaps it would be better if she were the one to control that whole thing, maybe then she wouldn’t mind, she could see it like a business deal. After all, some girl somewhere making him come didn’t equate to the many things they’d shared, the feelings they shared.</p>
<p>She could be practical that way.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Do you really see your father in me?” She’d asked a few days later when they were in the back of a car on the way to dinner at Logan’s apartment.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“The other night, you made some off-hand comment about me being ‘just like him’, is that really what you see?”</p>
<p>He tried to make a joke out of it, “I never wanted to fuck him.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure,” she looked away, out at the passing traffic. “Because it’s something to make a joke out of.”</p>
<p>“I thought we’d dealt with that argument then and there; I forget how women like to store things so they can jab you with them again later.”</p>
<p>She was sorry for that, because she was in a sour mood and she had brought it up purely to cause an argument.</p>
<p>“What’s with you?” He asked, shifting his body round so he was facing her. “You’ve been snappy for days.”</p>
<p>“Usual bullshit at work,” she toyed with the button on his jacket. “Not your fault.”</p>
<p>“I’m gonna take that as a Gerri apology.”</p>
<p>“That is a rare thing so suck it up.”</p>
<p>“You got a few days break from me, anyhow, if it’s that. Sharing a space.”</p>
<p>“No. It’s not that.” She was reluctant to tell him she was just feeling a little tired, that beneath her exterior she was still a woman and sometimes that meant being moody simply because you felt moody for no real reason. That she was preoccupied with thoughts of how well he was doing and how slow she was feeling and that the two seemed incompatible. “What time’s your flight in the morning?”</p>
<p>“Ten.” He nuzzled against her then, angling his head so he could kiss her neck. “Miss me?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>“You know,” she was holding one of his hands, tilting her head back so he could kiss her more easily. “Don’t be afraid to have a good time out there, you know, a <em>really</em> good time.”</p>
<p>That was like being slapped. “In what regard?” He asked, wide-eyed.</p>
<p>“You know in what regard.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could, “Don’t feel you have to hold back, or feel guilty. I want you to enjoy yourself.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I like this conversation.”</p>
<p>She tapped his hand, smiled gently, “Then we won’t have it. But it’s just about being sensible, handling things like adults. Being practical. That’s all.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“LA tomorrow then bro?” Shiv asks, in a bid to shift the spotlight from her husband and their apparent lack of conceiving. In truth they’ve hardly had sex in months so the possibility of her becoming pregnant is very slim. She had hoped by now they would have worked things out, moved forward, but no, they seemed doomed to stick in a perpetual cycle of miscommunication and let down.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah.”</p>
<p>“You going Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Not really your thing, is it Gerri?” Logan states, slicing into his steak.</p>
<p>“Not really, but I’ll be there for premiere night.”</p>
<p>“She’s the eye candy,” Roman interjected, and he hated the fact he still had to be the loud one, the joker, in order to feel seen.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Shiv is smiling, cradling her glass of wine as she watches the pair of them.</p>
<p>“Roman asked, I’m happy to go.” She said lightly.</p>
<p>“Must be nice,” Tom noted harshly, “feeling like a partnership.”</p>
<p>Roman stared at him, feeling the warmth of Gerri’s arm by his, her perfume so recognisable now it fed his senses. “It is.”</p>
<p>“And are you enjoying the apartment?” Marcia asked of Gerri.</p>
<p>“Mm, yes,” she put her fork down, reached for her wine. “Very much.”</p>
<p>She saw Logan shake his head out of the corner of her eye, resisted the urge to respond.</p>
<p>“And Paris?” Marcia prompted.</p>
<p>“A real treat,” she smiled genuinely.</p>
<p>“Nice to be spoilt,” Shiv said. “Every now and then.”</p>
<p>“We visited this ancient wine cellar,” her hand pressed over Roman’s wrist on the table. “He organised this private tour.”</p>
<p>“You always liked History at school,” Shiv said.</p>
<p>“Certainly enjoys older things.” Logan’s voice slithered across the table, like a coil of black smoke.</p>
<p>“You always say the older the wine the better it tastes,” Roman held his glass up, “turns out you were right.”</p>
<p>“This must be some record for you,” Shiv interrupted quickly, before an argument could build, “how long you two been together now?”</p>
<p>“Erm, I’d say,” he glanced at Gerri quickly, “eighteen months or so. I think. Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Right, like you’re not counting every fucking day since you got lucky, you prick.”</p>
<p>He laughed at that, threw back the last of his wine. “Yeah. Every fucking day.”</p>
<p>The topic drifts on then, Marcia talking of visiting Paris, seeing her son and his family, a Grandchild on the way. And then Christmas, the possibility of her and Logan going somewhere warm whilst the rest of them are in England with Caroline.</p>
<p>The thought of being in England with her for Christmas makes his stomach curl, being back at the castle – he wonders if they’ll be able to keep a straight face in the lounge by the fire, the memory of telling her he loved her for the first time, of making love with her.</p>
<p>He wonders if his mother had the rug cleaned.</p>
<p>He attacks her mouth in the car, is practically crawling on top of her as she struggles to recline in the small space. He bites her bottom lip and one of her hands pushes him back, her tongue darting out to lick the sore spot.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” his voice is frantic, hands grasping at her body.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” she meets his mouth with hers, indulging him.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to leave for the week and us be on bad terms. Fuck…” he is hard against her leg, his hands pushing her skirt up.</p>
<p>“Not here,” she soothes gently, because she is far too old and far too sensible for rushed sex in the back of a car. “We’ll be home soon; you can take your time then.” She is stroking his back, and he can still feel the heat of her touch through the thickness of his shirt.</p>
<p>“What we have is so much better,” he is saying, lifting his face up so he can look at her, “so much more than all of them and the shit, the fake shit this family wallows in.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t respond but instead kisses him again.</p>
<p>“Nobody else,” he murmurs against her mouth and she knows what he means without need for explanation.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>From the moment he’d called her mid-meeting with the request to ‘come over, I want you in the room’, she’d been keenly aware of his need for her presence. Of the security and strength he drew from her simply being there. It wasn’t always that he needed her advice, just a look from her, a nod, encouragement, a stroke to his ego. So really, she doesn’t mind travelling out to LA, not even when her flight is delayed and they’re waiting for a landing space as a result, nor when she steps out onto the tarmac and the heat sweeps over her, not comfortable when you’re still in New York weather clothes.</p>
<p>She feels a little like his cheerleader at times, has made that very comment to him on numerous occasions, but that’s the thing about cheerleaders, one day they grow up – you can’t wave pompoms forever.</p>
<p>She checks her phone as the car leaves the airport, finds a text saying he’s running late but will meet her at the hotel later. Reads her emails and then returns a missed call from her daughter.</p>
<p>“You’ll come though?” Blair is saying, and Gerri is chewing on her nail as she listens, gazing out of the window at the passing scenery. “It’s not asking a lot mother, really.”</p>
<p>“I said I would do my best, and I will. You sent the date through to my assistant, yes?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Maisie is coming, bringing her new boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“Christ, another new one?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. And I might, well, I might bring someone for you to meet.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” She is genuinely surprised by that; Blair never dates anybody. “Then I’m to take it Roman is invited too?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Of course. He’s part of your life now, we’ve kinda accepted it.”</p>
<p>“Grudgingly.”</p>
<p>“Where are you, the connection is poor?”</p>
<p>“In the car, in LA,” she adds, “Roman was invited to some premiere, I agreed to join him.” She fiddled with her jacket where it lay across her lap. “Not my thing really, but, well, there it is. Compromise.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s a first for you too hey.”</p>
<p>“Funny.”</p>
<p>“What’s the movie, anything I’d know?”</p>
<p>“No idea, I’ll text you a title when I see it.”</p>
<p>“There’ll be press, you ready for your close up?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps not, luckily nobody really cares about photographing me.”</p>
<p>Blair laughed, “Who would have thought your career would end up leading you to the paper-thin fakery of the movie scene?”</p>
<p>“Quite. All those years of studying the law for this.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you’ll find a new calling.”</p>
<p>“Ha, I highly doubt it. Didn’t you want to run something by me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, actually.”</p>
<p>She listened to her daughter talk through her latest case, it was rare for Blair to call her for legal advice, though this seemed to be more about her simply explaining to get things straight in her own mind rather than needing Gerri’s input. Still, it seemed a step forward in their relationship that she actually wanted to share parts of life and career with her.</p>
<p>As soon as the call ended she put one in to her assistant, followed up on a few things, but then made sure the date for Blair’s party was in her diary and other things shifted around for it. She would need to remind Roman, find out if he could attend.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hey bitch, I’m home,” he calls out into the hotel room, ditching his jacket on a chair in the hall and bouncing on his heels as he searches for her. “And we’ve been apart for four days so get yourself ready to be royally fucked.”</p>
<p>She waves her hand at him annoyed, seated by the window in the office area, on a call, laptop open, Martini glass half empty.</p>
<p>He holds his hand over his heart, dramatically dropping to his knees in front of her and burying his face in the hem of her skirt, hands groping her calves. She bites her lip to stifle the giggles.</p>
<p>“Yes, and can you send me the data for that right now,” she is saying, or trying to say, because his fingers are inching up under her skirt and she’s pressing down with one hand to keep him at bay, but he is forceful, pushing it up her thighs, parting her legs, nose against her thighs as he kisses there. Hands sliding back under her knees and lifting her legs as much as he can, draping them over his shoulders and then she does make a strange gasping noise and mutes her end of the call.</p>
<p>“Stop it, I’m working.”</p>
<p>“Stop working. Let me work you.”</p>
<p>“Rome,” she half-heartedly complains, but then gasps again when he deliberately drags his thumb over her panties.</p>
<p>She unmutes the call, “I’m sure that all sounds fine,” she manages, “if you could put the rest of your points into an email with the data I’ll be sure to review it later. I’m afraid I have another meeting waiting now though.” She hears Roman laugh and ends the call quickly.</p>
<p>“Fucking asshole,” she shoots down at him.</p>
<p>“No way to greet the love of your life.”</p>
<p>She presses a hand to the top of his head, “How’s it all going?”</p>
<p>“Good. Fun. Now take your stockings off so we can fuck like rabbits before we have to leave for this thing.”</p>
<p>“So romantic,” she drawls, but she’s getting to her feet, inching up her skirt, tugging down her panties. “Lay back then, impatient bunny.”</p>
<p>He is unhooking his belt, amused by how quickly she allows him to get away with this behaviour, pushing down his trousers and underwear in one. He pouts at her raised eyebrow, the way she slides her glasses off and stares at his erection as if he won’t quite do but she’ll put up with it nevertheless.</p>
<p>“Christ,” she complains as she gets on her knees, manoeuvring her body over his, “this is no good for my knee.”</p>
<p>“Wanna go on the bottom?”</p>
<p>“Not right now,” she is pressing a hand into his shoulder, her other hand between them taking hold of his penis.</p>
<p>“Missed me?” He asks, and she only quirks her eyebrow again and he squeezes his fingers into the fleshy part of her hips.</p>
<p>They both gasp as she finds the right angle and he slides inside her. “Not at all,” she hisses, “the apartment was peaceful and calm without your constant racket.”</p>
<p>“Bitch.”</p>
<p>“Child.”</p>
<p>He pushes his pelvis up and she moans. “Miss this though, wouldn’t you, if I disappeared?”</p>
<p>“Stop fucking about,” she complains, digging her nails into his neck, hips rolling forward, sinking onto him.</p>
<p>They’ve had four nights of phone calls now, of drawing up images for each other, spilling fantasies over the line in hushed heated tones. So it takes little effort and little time to work them both into a frenzy; she is too good, too sure of her moves and the power she has over him.</p>
<p>She falls forward, knowing he is close to orgasm, pressing her mouth to his and kissing him hungrily, tongues stroking the other.</p>
<p>“You never even said hello.” He mumbles,</p>
<p>“Hello,” she replies, eyes flashing by his, wide and dark, rich blue.</p>
<p>“Hello.” He holds her backside as she rides him deeply, watches her face. “Love you,” he states and there’s a smirk then, the corner of her mouth flickers upward and he moves a hand between their bodies, pressing against her, until her hips jerk without rhythm or sense and she is breathing out her pleasure as she climaxes around him.</p>
<p>“Love doing this with you,” he says later, when her head is on his chest and his arms are wrapped around her body, and the wondrous scent of her hair covers him.</p>
<p>“On the floor of a hotel room, we’re so very chic.”</p>
<p>“Well, exactly,” he chuckles, kissing her head. “Car will pick us up at six.”</p>
<p>“And the time now is?”</p>
<p>“Four-thirty-ish.”</p>
<p>“Shit.” She tries to move her body but feels languid and settled. “I’m going to skip it and stay here.”</p>
<p>“That kinda implies I have to skip it too.”</p>
<p>“A-ha.” She breathes deeply, lifts her face from his chest so she can see him. “I have a favour to ask.”</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p>“Blair is having a birthday party, she’s invited us, we can fly over, attend for a few hours, fly back. Doesn’t have to be a massive interruption to our calendar.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous, if we’re going then we’ll stay over at least a night. Where’s the party?”</p>
<p>“Some restaurant. Not sure why I’m invited this year, but I am. Somebody she wants me to meet.”</p>
<p>“A guy?”</p>
<p>“I guess.” She presses her hands into his shoulders to lift herself up, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“For the sex or attending the party?”</p>
<p>“Both,” she kissed him quickly, a smile on her face.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Gerri had always liked glitter. It was a tiny, feminine indulgence in the otherwise manicured and ordered life of business suits and sensible heels. Head-to-toe glitter was usually reserved for New Year, you could get away with it then, but a film premiere seemed as close as you could get.</p>
<p>“Fucking gorgeous,” he said for possibly the fifth time since they’d left the hotel.</p>
<p>“You have to stop staring, pay attention to some other guests.”</p>
<p>“Fuck other guests. Wear that dress when we’re alone, heels, no underwear.”</p>
<p>“Don’t push your fantasies now.” She took his hand as they exited the car, lifting the hem of her skirt as they walked. “How long on these fucking red-carpet photo things?”</p>
<p>“Half hour, maybe,” he tucked her arm through his.</p>
<p>“Christ, I need a drink, can I skip it, meet you inside?”</p>
<p>“No fucking way! For a start I’ll get in there and some geriatric old bastard will be coming onto you. Secondly, you need to be in every photo with me. You bought that dress for a reason.”</p>
<p>“I liked the colour.”</p>
<p>“It matches your eyes. Get ready to fake smile.”</p>
<p>“I thought you knew by now I very rarely fake anything.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“My, my wonders will never cease,” the man says as he presses his hand into Gerri’s upper back and leans in to kiss her left cheek, “Gerri Kellman,” he kissed her right cheek. “I thought we couldn’t get you to LA.”</p>
<p>“It’s a rarity,” she smiled warmly, pressing her free hand to his arm. “How are you Charlie? So very good to see you.”</p>
<p>“Better for seeing you, what are you doing at this thing? Where’s the business in it?”</p>
<p>“None for me personally,” she’s unsure why but she doesn’t immediately launch into explaining that she’s there with Roman, she wonders if he knows they’re together. “And you? Where’s your interest lie?”</p>
<p>“Friend of mine asked me to accompany his wife, he’s out of town, she’s friends with the lead actor’s mother,” he shrugged, “everyone knows everyone.”</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes, “Funny, I never get that small-town vibe when I pass through.”</p>
<p>He laughed, “I remember how much you hated schmoozing, rather be in a boardroom any minute of the day. That still true?”</p>
<p>“A-ha,” she sipped her champagne and he noted it, shook his head and beckoned a waiter, ordering her a Martini.</p>
<p>“So, you’re still with the Roys I see. Hanging on in there.”</p>
<p>“Just about. How’s retirement treating you? Not too bored yet just hanging around someone else’s pool? Taking someone else’s wife out for drinks?” She said pointedly, taking the Martini from the waiter’s tray.</p>
<p>“Not lost any of your sharpness then, kinda missed that, how you never miss a beat. You always kept me on my toes.”</p>
<p>“I had to, otherwise you’d be off slipping your dick into someone else.”</p>
<p>He laughed loudly at that, touching her arm again, “Fuck Gerri, you see that’s what missing in LA, your fucking hard-line touch.”</p>
<p>“It’s why I could never fit in.”</p>
<p>“Maybe not, but it sure was fun chasing you around the country.”</p>
<p>“The thrill is always in the chase,” she teased, and it dawned on her this could be construed as flirting.</p>
<p>He stepped closer to her, holding her gaze, “How long you in town for? Fancy lunch tomorrow, maybe a bit of a <em>chase</em>?”</p>
<p>Both eyebrows rose as she shook her head, mouth slightly open, “You never change, Charlie.”</p>
<p>“I might have, for you, maybe.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off, you’re interested until you land the deal, then you’re ready to move on. There’s a reason you never married.”</p>
<p>“Because you would never say yes. That’s why.” But he stepped even closer, breathing in her perfume, realising she still wore the same one. “You’re looking good, Gerri, great dress.”</p>
<p>“Charlie,” she looked up at him, from under her heavily made up eyes, “as much as I’ve always enjoyed our little game, I am here with someone.”</p>
<p>“Ahh,” his eyes shone at that, “the kid, right? The Roy kid?”</p>
<p>“He’s hardly that.” She looked away, scanning the room for Roman.</p>
<p>“Not your usual dalliance,” he said, “what do they say, dipping your quill in the company ink?”</p>
<p>“No. Not my usual ‘dalliance’ in any sense of the word. Funny how things can catch you off guard.” She looks at him again then, “Now stop flirting with me.”</p>
<p>He stepped back, laughing again, taking a long drink of Whisky. “Serious then? The gossip doesn’t cover that bit.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said gently, because Charlie was really the last kind of man she wanted to be having this kind of conversation with, “yes, it’s serious.”</p>
<p>“So, no fun for us?” He tilted his head to one side regarding her and she reflected on how wonderfully handsome he still was.</p>
<p>“No. No chance of that at all.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It’s not until post-movie drinks that he loses sight of her, he’s working the room and waxing lyrical about the movie – which he happened to love, he swears even Gerri enjoyed it because at the end she was actually smiling as she clapped.</p>
<p>He hears rumours of the filmmaking duo already moving onto a new project and he wheedles his way into a group discussing it, remains silent and takes in the information, which again is something he’s learned from her. He’s not sure why he needs to know, because his hands are full with his COO role, but this is interesting, this is what he would have picked had things been different.</p>
<p>It’s the sparkle of the blue dress that draws his eyes to her in the crowd, and she’s in discussion with some guy around her age, his hand on her upper arm as he leans in to whisper something to her and it isn’t like Roman to be jealous. Only he is.</p>
<p>She is as calm as can be when he appears by her side, pressing his free hand to the base of her spine.</p>
<p>“I wondered where you’d disappeared to,” she states, leaning in and kissing his cheek, and he feels caught off-guard by that because it’s clearly obvious it was purely for the man’s benefit. “This is Charlie Hoffmann,” she introduces, and he shakes his hand. “He’s an attorney, we knew each other when we were first training.”</p>
<p>“Oh wow, long history.” Roman said.</p>
<p>“Was an attorney. Retired now.” Charlie corrects, “And yeah, seemed a bolt out of the blue to meet her again all those years later.”</p>
<p>“We used to date, Roman.” She says carefully, watches his eyes widen. “When we were young. And then, well, again, for a while, after Baird passed,” she pressed her hip into Roman’s side. “For quite a while, actually.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” He said again, feeling like a dumbstruck idiot.</p>
<p>“She turned down my proposal,” Charlie said, “twice I asked her to marry me and she refused.” He chuckled at that; Roman felt it like a knife to the guts.</p>
<p>Gerri took a long drink, could feel how the man beside her moved uncomfortably.</p>
<p>“LA isn’t for me,” she said, “I was always a New York girl.”</p>
<p>“You’re looking good on it, anyhow,” he eyed Roman. “I’d heard on the grapevine you two were –,”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roman’s hand snaked around her waist.</p>
<p>“I know I’m not much of a connoisseur, but I really rather enjoyed the movie.” She shifted her body, moving herself just slightly out of Roman’s hold. “What did you make of it?”</p>
<p>“Real thoughtful piece,” Charlie said, and he had this odd smile on his face as he watched Roman, nodding his head every now and then as if he knew something Roman didn’t, as if he was laughing at the poor sap on the outside of things.</p>
<p>“Roman’s been re-introducing me to the world of film,” she said brightly, like she was trying too hard, that made him feel nervous too, because she was always in control. “I so rarely go to see anything, so rarely have time to just sit and, well, since we moved in together he’s been trying out different directors on me.”</p>
<p>Charlie’s eyes widened, “You got her to live with you?” He laughed sharply, “Christ, I could barely get her to hold hands.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Roman felt like he was treading water, being swallowed by it; this man was brighter than he was, more handsome, quicker and a hell of a lot more suitable for Gerri. “Crazy renovations at the moment,” he said for something to fill the gap, “we’re shifting the layout in the apartment, putting in new rooms.”</p>
<p>“You know how it is trying to manage that alongside work,” Gerri said, and she slid her free hand down Roman’s arm, squeezing his hand.</p>
<p>“But a few days in LA to relax?”</p>
<p>“Well, I only arrived today,” she said, “and we fly back tomorrow. This is Roman’s thing, I’m here purely as the support act.”</p>
<p>“We should all be so lucky to have such a cheerleader in our corner,” Charlie said, “no wonder he’s doing his best to hang onto you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Asshole,” Roman snapped, “fucking asshole.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m inclined to agree. But you don’t have to do that,” she said as he unzipped her dress later in the evening. “Hold onto me like I was likely to wander off and get in trouble.”</p>
<p>“Was I?”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes at him, shimmied the dress down her arms. “You don’t have to piss on me. Mark your territory.”</p>
<p>“Really. That guy seemed to have forgotten where the boundaries lie. Had his hands on you.”</p>
<p>She'd wondered if he’d clocked that when he appeared suddenly at her side, “Do we really need to have that discussion?”</p>
<p>“No, not in the slightest,” he kicked his trousers onto the floor, sank back onto the bed. “But I can still think him a cock-sucking piece of shit…”</p>
<p>“A tad OTT, but alright, if you must.” She smirked as she sat on a chair to roll her stockings down her legs.</p>
<p>“I think I could watch you do that every day of my life and not get bored.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, well, now we’re sharing a home you can. Apart from Sundays, I’d rather avoid wearing stockings on a Sunday if I can.”</p>
<p>“Unless it’s some role-playing shit that requires them.”</p>
<p>“Well yes, obviously,” she huffed sarcastically. “A question for you, and don’t get man-like when I ask it.”</p>
<p>“Man-like?” He laughed. “Right, get the fuck on with it then.”</p>
<p>“Do you trust me, Roman?”</p>
<p>That threw him a little; unsure as to whether she was doubting him or about to reveal something that’d cut to the bone. “I do.” He said simply.</p>
<p>“And yet this is the second time in as many weeks you’ve questioned my loyalty.”</p>
<p>“Er no.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, engrossed in her movements. “I never said I didn’t trust you with that wanker, just that… well…”</p>
<p>“Well...?” She shook her head, her voice soft, “Rome, I’m not dwelling on this, I’m just pointing it out. Your doubt over Frank…”</p>
<p>He shrugged. “I apologised for that.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you did. Want me to really punish you?”</p>
<p>He perked up at that, watched as she moved closer to him, hands on his shoulders. “Don’t be a fucking child.”</p>
<p>“It’s my insecurities, not yours,” he said, “that guy today seemed more like the decent kind of human you should be with.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” she pressed her finger to his lips. “We’ve been through this kind of bullshit before, I’m not playing that game.”</p>
<p>He licked her index finger, sucked it into his mouth, eyes fixed on hers. “I just want you to just want me.”</p>
<p>“I do. Is that not obvious?” She climbed onto his lap, “This is why I’m here with you, is it not? This is why no ‘Charlie’ is ever going to stand a chance.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he gripped her backside, held her secure, though his voice shook slightly as he spoke, “and yet the other day you suggested I find someone else to fuck.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you,” she laughed, “not me.”</p>
<p>“You know how that made me feel, Gerri?”</p>
<p>He was serious, and it surprised her, to hear that tone in his voice; not playing games now but challenging her. “Like you had a free pass, most men would be glad of it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want that. I want you to be fucking jealous if I even think of touching another woman. I want you to care, to give a fuck.”</p>
<p>She sucked on her bottom lip. “I do. I thought I was being nice, a foreign concept for both of us.”</p>
<p>“Stop joking, I’m not finding it funny, Gerri.”</p>
<p>She sat back, sighing heavily, and then disengaging herself from his arms and climbing down from his lap. “Alright. So maybe I misread it.”</p>
<p>He was about to open his mouth and respond but she held her hand up, took one of the robes from the bottom of the bed and slipped it on.</p>
<p>“Look, this insecurity thing isn’t me,” she explained, “I don’t get insecure, I don’t measure myself up against other women and worry you’re going to wander off.”</p>
<p>“Yeah I know.” He sounded almost petulant.</p>
<p>“But perhaps, just maybe, and don’t repeat this, but maybe I might feel insecure about the fact that someday you won’t need me.”</p>
<p>He started to speak again but she stopped him.</p>
<p>“No wait, I don’t mean sexually.”</p>
<p>“Okay…?”</p>
<p>“This thing between us,” she sank down into the chair across from him, “it started because you needed me business wise, my advice, my help.” She shrugged, “Business I know. Business I can do.”</p>
<p>“So, hang on. You think I’m gonna fuck off because I don’t need you to hold my fucking hand anymore in meetings?”</p>
<p>“Not entirely. Maybe a tiny hint of that.”</p>
<p>“So, you tell me to go off and fuck around for a few days in LA?” He got up from the bed, “Honest to God, this is why men and women can’t work shit out. We’re on different planets.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s kinda been pointed out before.” She got to her feet again, unsettled.</p>
<p>“You want some truths?” He started.</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p>“I still need you for the business, you think I’m feeling more confident, that’s down to you. But fuck that, you know what, fuck Waystar. This ‘thing’ as you call it, <em>us</em>, it’s more than the motherfucking business advice you give me.”</p>
<p>“Such a pleasant turn of phrase.” She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him.</p>
<p>“You think I don’t need you for every other thing in my life. You think I’ve ever gone to sleep curled up on my girlfriend before? I’m a fucking retard when it comes to life, Gerri, dating, relationships, all that crap.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not.”</p>
<p>“No,” he caught hold of the tie on her robe, pulled her to him, “I fucking love you, in every aspect. I got jealous cos that guy had a past with you, I’m human right. And I don’t want no other woman in my bed.” His hand slipped inside her robe, onto her skin. “I would crawl over broken glass to climb into your bed, I fucking bared my soul on that bridge, I asked you to marry me, I’d still ask you to marry me, but apparently all you do is turn men down.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that, “Yeah, so maybe I love you too.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” he pressed himself tight against her now, “Fucking maybe?”</p>
<p>She was laughing as he lifted her up, carried her to the bed, opened the robe and kissed his way up her body. “Imagine, Gerri Kellman getting insecure over me.”</p>
<p>“That’s a lie,” she threaded her fingers into his hair, “I’m never insecure.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Right.” He closed his mouth over her nipple. “Christ you know how to lower the mood of an evening.”</p>
<p>She slapped his backside, “I’m a joy from start to finish.”</p>
<p>“Rollercoaster.”</p>
<p>She grabbed his jaw in her hand, forced him to look at her, “Stop talking and cheer me up.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“So, you wanna tell me why you didn’t marry the Charlie guy?” He says later, when they’re both naked and sated, her leaning against a pile of pillows cradling a glass of bourbon, his head on her stomach.</p>
<p>“I thought we’d kicked that issue aside.”</p>
<p>“We have,” he held his hand up for the glass and she handed it to him, he deliberately drank from where her lipstick had marked it, “just interested is all.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Right.”</p>
<p>“Come on,” he handed the glass back to her, “spill. He’s got a small dick, right?”</p>
<p>“Hardly,” she said without thought and he laughed at that, head jerking up.</p>
<p>“Oh! You telling me he was a good fuck?”</p>
<p>“I’m not discussing that with you,” she put the now empty glass aside.</p>
<p>“Come on,” he turned himself over, tickling her waist and enjoying how she squirmed beneath him. “Give me the sordid details.”</p>
<p>“No,” she protested, but she was laughing, her hands only half-heartedly pushing him away, and then he was pressing kisses to her stomach, down towards her pelvis, then over her pubic bone until she sighed happily, heavenly.</p>
<p>“I didn’t love him,” she finally said, and he shifted again then, hands folded beneath his chin as he looked up at her.</p>
<p>“Okay, you were with him how long, exactly?”</p>
<p>“Hmm, a year, maybe just over.”</p>
<p>“And he proposed twice? Shit! I thought I was hooked.”</p>
<p>She shrugged, “What can I say?”</p>
<p>“I told you once before your pussy is like gold dust.”</p>
<p>She flipped his hair back, smiled gently at him.</p>
<p>“So, you telling me you’d only marry someone you loved, is that right?”</p>
<p>She bit down on her lip, “Don’t start.”</p>
<p>“Just asking.”</p>
<p>“You’re fishing, and I’m not playing.” She lifted the glass and waved it at him, “Refill?”</p>
<p>He sighed but got up, refilled the glass, brought both the bottle and ice bucket back with him so he didn’t have to move again.</p>
<p>“What’ve you made of this week then?” She said as he settled on the bed again, this time lying beside her. “You didn’t say much over the phone.”</p>
<p>“It’s been good, yeah,” he nodded, “eye-opening.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” She rolled over, leant on his chest. “Do expand on that.”</p>
<p>“You know, just, it’s what I like, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>She quirked an eyebrow, “Is it?” She knew it was, it was the only area of the company he’d shown any real enthusiasm for, only to mess it up within months and be sent back to Daddy like some petulant little spoiled brat.</p>
<p>“I would’ve done this, producing, if I could.”</p>
<p>She kissed his chest, stroking her fingers back and forth.</p>
<p>“Messed it up, the opportunity I had, like everything, fucked it up.”</p>
<p>“You’ve not fucked this up, us,” she said softly, still kissing him.</p>
<p>He threaded his fingers into her hair, “My entire focus is on not fucking us up. I wish I’d been more focussed then, not such an idiot. Immature. Spoiled.” He took a drink, “But then maybe failing is my talent, what I’m best at.”</p>
<p>She was still again then, still resting on his chest, looking up at him. “Does your shrink allow this self-indulgence?”</p>
<p>“Hardly. He’d say some bollocks like ‘go with that’ or ‘let’s explore that further.’”</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>“So…?”</p>
<p>“<em>Let’s explore it further</em>, you seeing yourself as a failure.”</p>
<p>He laughed, “Don’t fucking start. I can give you a million variations on that, you can probably name a few hundred yourself. Not rocket science to work out where it comes from – <em>of all the fucking sperm heading in the same direction and you were the one that made it through? Fuck knows what the rest must’ve been like!”</em></p>
<p>She recognised the tone for an imitation of Logan and inwardly cringed at the memorised comment.</p>
<p>“How old were you, when he said that?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, tried to divert his gaze from her eyes, “Nine, maybe. I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Her hand was flat on his chest, she could feel the thud of his heart. “So, you tell the therapist that one?”</p>
<p>He shrugged again, shook his head.</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. Maybe it’s easier to open up when you’re naked, content in the arms of someone who you know cares for you.”</p>
<p>“More than cares.” She said plainly.</p>
<p>“You see why I get insecure when you try to shunt me off to some other woman.”</p>
<p>“It was hardly that,” she rolled her eyes, moved up his body so she could kiss him, cradling his head in her hands so she could control the movements. She wanted to tell him they were her insecurities, that getting older and not being able to provide the same level of sexual excitement and engagement bothered her; they weren’t there yet, and likely wouldn’t be for years, but one day it would happen, and she wanted him to feel he could get that elsewhere if needed; a sensible arrangement could be made.</p>
<p>But now wasn’t the moment. In fact, it was probably best if she shelved that for a few years.</p>
<p>He put the glass aside, twisted his body with hers until they were curled around each other, one of her legs between his, arms tangled, lips and tongues caressing the other’s. As much as he loved the sex there was something different, something perhaps even more intimate about kissing her, just lying there wrapped together, tangled in the bedsheets, and endless kissing. He could do it forever, enjoying each sensation, the press of her fingertips on his body, the smell and taste of her, the soft sighs she made deep in the back of her throat to show him how much she enjoyed it.</p>
<p>She was holding him, letting him kiss his way along her neck, rubbing the heel of her foot up and down his leg.</p>
<p>“If you enjoy this business then get involved in it.” She whispered.</p>
<p>He moved his mouth back to hers, kissing her quickly, “How?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I’m not so intertwined with it. But you know people, you could put money into something, bankroll something to get your foot in the door.”</p>
<p>“It’s too late, I fucked it up with the stupid kids’ film.”</p>
<p>“Everyone makes mistakes. The trick is not to dwell on them.”</p>
<p>“You don’t make mistakes."</p>
<p>“Don’t I?” She licked her lips, “Last week I told you I’d be okay with you sleeping around if you needed to get laid, that was a lie, and it was a mistake to do it. Pretending to be practical in matters of the heart.”</p>
<p>He kissed her again, fingers tangled in her hair.</p>
<p>“You made one bad movie, Roman, but do you think everyone gets it right first time? Didn’t someone say, at the table during the dinner, that the writer had already completed a new script, that the director was already in talks about them teaming up again?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Well my gut tells me this one will be a hit, so, get in early, make contact, ask to see a script, on the provision you will consider a cash injection and a role as producer.”</p>
<p>“Ha, they’d laugh in my face.”</p>
<p>“Somehow, I don’t think they would.” She pressed her pelvis against his, “Use that Roman charm.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve you.”</p>
<p>“To be honest, neither do I.” She flopped onto her back, pulled him over her, “Remember me, when you’re a star?”</p>
<p>“It’ll be a hobby at best. Dad would never –,” he paused, “– No, you’re right. Give it a go.”</p>
<p>“Even if it is a side-line, a hobby,” she slipped her hand down to stroke his erection, “What does it matter? Like starting to collect wine or learning to sail, you do these things because you enjoy them, not for anybody else.”</p>
<p>He gasped, “I enjoy you.”</p>
<p>“I should hope so, but then, I also hope I’m more than a hobby.”</p>
<p>He laughed, pressed himself inside her, breathed out her name as he came down to kiss her mouth. “You’re life.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. No Pressure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunday mornings. They’re his lifeblood now. He used to despise Sundays. Long dragging days; forced relaxation, lunch at his father’s, worrying about Monday. On his couch throwing a basketball against the wall but he’s got no eye for it really and misses the hoop nine times out of ten. Periodically someone touches up the paintwork, he doesn’t know who, it’s never occurred to him to find out.</p>
<p>Now they make love. Or fuck. Depending on the mood.</p>
<p>He has her to himself. All of her. Mind. Body. Heart.</p>
<p>Naked in the middle of his bed (their bed now, he forgets that), seated, facing each other, legs wrapped around the other. It frees his hands, and the movement is so slow like this, it takes an age to climax, time to stroke her silk-like skin, to breathe in the warm-peach scent of her. She alternates between tipping her head back, shaking her hair free and loose, his fingers tangling into the loose strands, encouraging his tongue on her neck. And then, she eases forward, mouth on his neck, teeth sinking into his skin then licking it carefully, gently. Her thighs tight around him, skin slick, the sound of them pressing together, the repeated wonderful intoxicating movement of her body rolling forward onto his.</p>
<p>He’s accepted she owns him. Likely always will.</p>
<p>She does this thing sometimes, when she’s looking at him, and he can’t look away, pressing her muscles, holding him tight inside her and massaging him. He slides his fingers into her mouth, and she’ll suck on them in the same slow rhythm they’re using elsewhere; teeth sharp as they scrape along his skin, tapping against his nail. His palms wide and flat against her shoulder blades, he can feel them roll and move beneath his hands.</p>
<p>Times like this he can’t believe she lets him touch her.</p>
<p>“Honey,” she breathes by his ear, an unmonitored response when she forgets herself and the feelings take over and she groans heavenly and slips backwards from his arms and stretches on the bed, legs uncurling from his body and stretching either side of him.</p>
<p>He strokes his hands from her thigh to her calf and back again, his heart still thudding, blood thrumming heavily through his veins, he can feel the pulse in his neck, his dick still wet and throbbing with pleasure.</p>
<p>“Let’s skip dinner,” he says.</p>
<p>“You say that every Sunday.”</p>
<p>“That’s because you do things like that every Sunday.”</p>
<p>She looks up at him from under heavy eyelids, stretches her arms out above her head which pushes her breasts upwards and forward and he leans over her, hands either side of her ribcage as he kneels between her legs.</p>
<p>“You’re so fucking good.” He can’t help himself, kisses between her breasts, over her sternum, back to take a nipple in his mouth.</p>
<p>“We don’t have time to go again,” but her voice sounds amused, light, joyful.</p>
<p>Later she’ll smile at him across the table and he’s pissed they got separated and she isn’t by his side. But she nudges his shoe with hers and smiles at him over the top of her wine glass and there’s something there in her eyes, and he can still see the faint pink flush in her cheeks and remember the sound of her lungs opening up and the relieved moan escaping her lips. She’s not usually loud; it’s fun when she comes that way. He smirks, and she raises an eyebrow and he looks away quickly because if he doesn’t she’ll make him hard simply by looking at him. The power she has.</p>
<p>“You look very nice, Gerri,” Shiv is saying as she sinks into the chair beside Roman, “Very alert.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, I think,” she replies, taking another sip of her wine, spotting Roman’s smirk.</p>
<p>Her arm jolts as the chair next to her is yanked back and spots of red wine trickle onto the sleeve of the jumper she’s wearing.</p>
<p>“Oh damn,” a small voice says, “I’m real sorry, Gerri.”</p>
<p>“Sophie, I told you to be careful around the table, don’t run.” Rava instructs as she seats Iverson and herself by her daughter.</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” She presses a napkin onto the wine then remembers herself and stops. “I can get it cleaned. Don’t worry honey.”</p>
<p>Roman’s eyes widen at that, that word is meant for him and him alone, he nods his head at her amused and she feels like giving him the finger but instead turns her attention to the girl next to her, though making small talk with a kid never was her forte.</p>
<p>“I like that sweater,” Sophie says.</p>
<p>“Thank you. How are you…<em>dear</em>?” She added as an awkwardly sounding afterthought.</p>
<p>“I’m at boarding school now,” she spreads the napkin in her lap like a proper little lady. “But I came home for Halloween, we’re having a big party, uncle Roman said you would come.”</p>
<p>She shoots a sharp glance across the table and he shrugs. “Oh, he did? When?”</p>
<p>“Halloween of course, silly.” She laughs, “May I have some water, Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” She put her wine down, filled the girl’s water glass. “So, this party?”</p>
<p>“Fancy dress. I’m going as a zombie ballerina; Iverson is going as Deadpool.”</p>
<p>“Is that something I should understand?”</p>
<p>Roman laughed and she tilted her face towards him, mouth formed into a perfect pout. “Alright, smartass, what are you going as then?”</p>
<p>“My costume is top secret because it’s brilliant and will be stolen if revealed.” He waggled his eyebrows at Sophie. “See you got the spot next to your best friend, Soph.”</p>
<p>The girl pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at him.</p>
<p>“I’m guessing this means I have to dress up too?” Gerri's voice was incredulous.</p>
<p>“You could go as hard-as-nails-bitch-in-a-business-suit.” He offered. “Or a witch, same difference.”</p>
<p>“Fu…” She stopped herself and beside her Sophie smirked.</p>
<p>“Uncle Tom is coming as a priest.” Sophie said, helping herself to potatoes.</p>
<p>“A priest!” Roman laughed, shouting down the table. “Is this because the rumours are true, Tom, you really <em>are </em>a virgin?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be a prick,” Shiv shot back in return. “What are you going as Ken?”</p>
<p>“Zombie dad!” Sophie said excitedly.</p>
<p>“Hardly any effort needed,” Roman muttered at his brother.</p>
<p>The chatter muted somewhat when Logan came into the room, half bent as he made his way around the table with Marcia’s help.</p>
<p>“I told them to start,” Marcia explained as he sat.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, help your fucking selves to my spoils.”</p>
<p>“Roast the lamb yourself, did you Dad?” Roman quipped, and it was the first time in a long while he can recall being light-hearted with his father, things had been tense for so long now he’s forgotten how it feels to just bounce along and let whatever words come to mind spill forward. He’ll never forgive Logan for many things, Kendall number one, but Gerri too now, for making him hurt Gerri, and himself as it turned out.</p>
<p>“Yeah, pretty little fucker was bounding round the garden this morning,” Logan replied and Roman actually laughed, because his father was in a relatively good mood.</p>
<p>“So, Don Corleone, you coming to this dress up gig then?”</p>
<p>“No fucking way, dressing up as the devil to hand out candy, I can do that on a daily basis.” He sat back and allowed Marcia to serve him.</p>
<p>“You could go as Buddy Holly,” Gerri suggested to Roman, just borrow my glasses, you’ve got the figure for it.”</p>
<p>He squared his jaw as he raised his eyebrows at her and sang, “<em>Maybe baby, I’ll have you...”</em></p>
<p>She smirked, “Least you got the reference.”</p>
<p>“Pop culture extraordinaire,” Kendall said, “give him any quiz question, he’ll likely know.”</p>
<p>“I had a lot of time to read whilst boarding.”</p>
<p>“You went to boarding school too, uncle Roman?” Sophie asked. “How you find it?”</p>
<p>“Very likely not as good as yours. But then you’re smart, I’m not.”</p>
<p>Gerri frowned at that, gave a slight shake of her head at him.</p>
<p>“Gerri’s smart,” Sophie said, “Mom said Gerri is smarter than all of you.”</p>
<p>“She is.” Roman agreed laughing.</p>
<p>“Not that smart,” Kendall slapped Roman’s back, “she chose you.”</p>
<p>“Smartest move of all,” Shiv said and Gerri smiled at that, eyes narrowing as she sat back and took in the lot of them. <em>His </em>family. The family she’d worked for, for the majority of her life. The family who she had showed such dedication to at the cost to her own.</p>
<p>She ran her fingers around the stem of her glass, listening to their jokes and chatter, the drift into business, the children silent – it had always interested her how in most homes children were the centre of attention, but never in this one, here they were often on the side lines. The structure of the day wasn’t changed to allow for their needs, the food wasn’t changed or ‘kid friendly’ options offered. They were the ones who were expected to fit it, to alter their behaviour to fit the whims of their grandfather. Children were selfish, true, but then they were too young and inexperienced to know better, the adults weren’t.</p>
<p>“Will you come, Gerri?” Sophie whispered beside her and she tilted her head down to listen to her. “To the party?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m certain I will try, if your uncle is going then I’ll be with him.”</p>
<p>The girl smiled back at her, “Mom says you and Uncle Roman live together now.”</p>
<p>“We do. Yes.”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“His apartment, you’ve surely visited it before.”</p>
<p>Beside her Iverson leant forward and shook his head, “We’ve never seen it.”</p>
<p>“My goodness, you should visit, he has this huge games room you’d love, it’s made for children, but then your uncle often acts like a child so…” she shrugged immaturely.</p>
<p>“Will you be there?” Sophie interrupted.</p>
<p>“Well, I mean, most likely,” she took a sip of her wine to pause.</p>
<p>“We’ve never really hung out with Uncle Roman on our own,” Sophie said, “he seems cool but…” She mimicked Gerri’s earlier shrug.</p>
<p>“I will make him make more of an effort,” Gerri said, which was a ridiculous thing to say really because if anyone was worse at spending time with children it was her.</p>
<p>“His party was cool,” Iverson said, “those go-karts you got, we were racing him.”</p>
<p>“I’m very glad you enjoyed them.”</p>
<p>When she looked across the table again Roman was staring at her in an odd way, a half smirk, but something else there, something she couldn’t read.</p>
<p>“So, how was LA?” Shiv asked of Roman, “You gonna make a move into acting, can see you as a thesp.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, renaming myself <em>Chris</em> to fit right in.”</p>
<p>“Seriously,” Kendall said, “some good numbers coming out of there.”</p>
<p>“We’re doing alright,” Roman said, “we can do better, I’ve got a few ideas.” He glanced at Gerri, but she kept her mouth shut, gave nothing away. “Just sketching out some plans for the coming year.”</p>
<p>Dinner rolled on as they so often do, very little of importance really discussed but a few hours spent in the company of his siblings and the gradual merging of his life with Gerri, and his life with them. He often felt like there was more than one side of him, it would be foolish to say two sides because he was well aware he’d donned a few masks over time and none of them fit particularly well. The closest he felt to being whole were mornings like the one they’d just shared, where there was no doubt or anxiety or need to be loud and impress. He was mocked less by his family these days, not that it had completely disappeared, but the gap between incidents was growing longer and longer and he found it harder to slip into clown-role and that little bit easier to give his opinion in meetings and feel he was being taken seriously.</p>
<p>“I’m assuming the producer thing is to be kept hush.” She says later as she comes into the bathroom carrying a glass of wine. He’s submerged in the tub and that is another new thing, because he so rarely stopped still long enough to have time for a bath, but she tells him it’s a good way to relax on a Sunday night before the working week and it seems to calm his blood pressure.</p>
<p>She bends beside the tub, hands him the wine, her palm drifting over the top of the bubbles, “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” he states, “just, you know, sometimes might be nice to have some things to myself, close to my chest, is that what they say.” He deliberately splashed his hands in the water, like a child seeking to disrupt the momentum and shift the focus. “So, you’re like fairy-fucking-godmother now with those kids.”</p>
<p>“Part of my evil seduction plan to usurp you all.”</p>
<p>“Knew it. You gotta work on Tom, though, not sure he’s under your spell yet. But then you’ve never sucked his dick, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”</p>
<p>She is stony faced at that, “Too far.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Her hand is resting on the side of the tub and he touches her fingers, coating each knuckle with suds. “I like this, our Sundays.”</p>
<p>“A-ha.”</p>
<p>“Sorry too, for the Halloween shit.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t agreed to go.”</p>
<p>“You lied to a child!” He exclaimed, mock-scandalised. “You gotta fucking come, get an outfit.”</p>
<p>“What’s yours?”</p>
<p>“A winner, but wait to see it.”</p>
<p>She sighed heavily, “God damn kids party at this point in my life.” She pushed herself to her feet. “You still okay with vacating the apartment one Friday, if I can arrange something with my friends?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “Sure, eye for an eye. Happy to assist.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got some work to do,” she says ruffling his hair, “see you later.”</p>
<p>“Ten sharp.”</p>
<p>She’s unsure if that’s meant to be a joke or not, but she smiles at him by the door, and then leaves him to relax.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Saturday night and attending a party that starts at six,” Roman observed as he held the car door open for her. “How the mighty have fallen.”</p>
<p>“And you’re dressed as what, exactly?”</p>
<p> He held his arms open, displaying the outfit in all its glory. “It’s a pun.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I get that. But really, come on.” The tone was enough to make his balls shrivel, added to it the snap of her nails against the edge of the car door as she looked him up and down and drilled her fingers against the metal and he felt decidedly small.</p>
<p>“It’s a kids’ party, I’ve come in a kid’s outfit.”</p>
<p>She is shaking her head, simultaneously huffing, and he enjoys the fact he can still earn that reaction from her, even after all this time. “You owe me,” she said as her heel got stuck in the hem of her skirt and once again pulled as they headed from car to party. “And I mean you owe me in multiple diamonds and an entire month of you paying for dinner whenever we go out.”</p>
<p>“But you look sexy,” he paused, let her walk ahead for a moment, “sexy motherfucking witch.”</p>
<p>She turned to glare.</p>
<p>“See. Perfect. Keep the outfit on later, yeah, even if it’s just the hat as you ride me.”</p>
<p>“This is not the kind of conversation civilised people have when they’re going to a kids’ party.”</p>
<p>He hooked his arm through hers, “Oh, are we civilised now? I thought we were the kinky pair who hide at the back of the room and the rest of the guests gossip about and wonder what the fuck we get up to.”</p>
<p>“Christ alive…”</p>
<p>“Now, the more important question is what your witch name can be.”</p>
<p>“Here we go.”</p>
<p>“Geraldine, the baddest bitch in the bay.”</p>
<p>“Try again.”</p>
<p>“Geraldine, erm, watch her ride her broomstick.”</p>
<p>“Fucking useless.”</p>
<p>“I porn-starred your name anyhow.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me!”</p>
<p>Now he had her attention, “Sassy Slamm, that’s your porn star name.”</p>
<p>“Based on what criteria, exactly?”</p>
<p>“Based on the criteria of me typing your name into google porn star name generator.”</p>
<p>“You’re a fucking liability to me, I swear to God I’m going to slam you into something.” She pinched his arm as they entered the house.</p>
<p>“Fuck, you’re getting me hard.”</p>
<p>“Don’t embarrass me. Your outfit it bad enough.”</p>
<p>“This outfit will kick every ass here tonight, believe me, I’m in for the win.”</p>
<p>“Against a bunch of ten-year-olds, yes.” She lowered her voice as they moved through the entrance hall, small groups of adults and children being admitted. “It’s imperative you find the bar in the next five seconds. The future of our relationship depends upon it.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It took her very little time to find just the right spot where she could simultaneously hide away from the rest of the guests whilst also observing them; Martini in one hand and her phone in the other, she passed most of the night replying to emails or reading the news online. She couldn’t remember throwing or attending children’s parties when her girls were young, it seemed quite ridiculous that she was doing it now, a woman of her power and influence the verge of turning sixty, it was silly to think that the only reason she was standing there hiding in the shadows dressed as a witch was because her boyfriend had asked her to go – she wondered when she’d become so easily manipulated.</p>
<p>“Gerri!” Tom exclaimed as he rushed her, “You look amazing!”</p>
<p>“Ah, Tom,” she leant in and accepted his kiss to both of her cheeks. “Thank you. Pretty standard witch I’m afraid, I never was one for fancy dress. Thank Christ for my assistant.” She quickly finished the Martini she was holding; courage against the assault. “To be honest, this entire event is alien to me. You look fitting though, <em>Father</em> Tom.”</p>
<p>“Ha, very good. It’s one of the friendlier Roy events I’ve attended. There’s plenty of candy apples. And cake, I know you like cake.”</p>
<p>She appreciated that, it actually amused her, which was a rare thing for Tom, she allowed him a smile. “How are you Tom? How’s life with Cyd?”</p>
<p>“Keeps me on my toes.” He took a sip of the champagne he was holding and glanced around avoiding the bait; he wasn’t so smart, but he wasn’t so dumb he didn’t know Gerri could run rings around him, so that was best avoided. “So, you still er coming to England for Christmas?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“Safety in numbers hey, took a battering last year there on my own I can tell you.”</p>
<p>She’d forgotten about that, or rather didn’t particularly care to think about it at the time, miserable as she was hunkered down at an old friend’s house drinking away her pain.</p>
<p>“Do tell me of any particular festivities I should be prepared for.”</p>
<p>“Draughty rooms and lumpy mattresses,” he laughed, “and of course, the mother-in-law.”</p>
<p>“Ah but not mine at least.”</p>
<p>“You already know Caroline though, so I guess it’ll be better for you, I guess.”</p>
<p><em>Was he goading her?</em> This was an interesting development. “I don’t think our prior knowledge of one another is going to soften her treatment towards me in any such way really,” she smirked, “Do you, Tom? Unless of course,” she shrugged, “she recalls that one night we spent together back in ’92, and still harbours lustful intent.”</p>
<p>His mouth was open as if about to respond when Roman interrupted as he swung into them.</p>
<p>“My bitch witch! Your glass is empty,” he pressed a kiss to her mouth, “that is no state for you to be in.”</p>
<p>“You’re drunk,” she noted, “I was entertaining Tom with stories of the relationship your mother and I had.”</p>
<p>“The affair? Christ yeah. Gonna be awkward when we’re all there together, both of us having seen you naked.”</p>
<p>But goodness he caught on quickly. Both of their impassive faces turned to face Tom.</p>
<p>“You two are fucking suited, both of you sick.”</p>
<p>“Aw, so romantic, thanks man.” Roman gushed. “Now, I need your votes. I’m running for outfit of the night. I need you to work your magic in this room,” he focussed on Gerri, “Baby, if you love me at all, work the room in that cold persuasive way you have and get me some votes. Offer money. Promise your body if needed.”</p>
<p>“Let me assure that there is no way on this green, green earth that I am talking to anyone in this room about your childishly stupid outfit. Cereal killer indeed.”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes and switched to Tom, “Tom, favourite brother-in-law, can I count on your vote?”</p>
<p>“Aren’t we, er, rivals?”</p>
<p>“You can’t possibly think you’re going to win, I mean, nice try really but come on, a priest. You’ve not even spiced it up and splattered yourself with blood. Killer vampire priest.” He slid his hand across Gerri’s back, she could feel his hand resting on her bra, fingers running back and forth over the fastening.</p>
<p>“You watch too many movies.” Tom said, “Shouldn’t a kid win?”</p>
<p>“Fuck the kids, it’s a dog eat dog world, they need to learn the harsh realities. Now,” he snapped his fingers, “Get Gerri a drink, yeah, whilst I feel up a few more old ladies for votes.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Iverson had made it through the noise of the party by focussing on the instant camera he had been given. There was now a wall in the kitchen covered with awkwardly framed snaps of every guest in their outfits. And now, in pride position on the fridge door, Roman and a hastily scrawled ‘winner’ at the top of it.</p>
<p>“He seems better,” Roman said watching as Kendall dropped ice into two glasses and added a generous measure of Whisky. “I mean, what I mean is…”</p>
<p>“Not entirely fucked up?” Kendall thrust the glass into Roman’s hand. The kitchen was pretty much empty now, the odd server moving in and out with empty trays, but it was cooler and quieter than the rest of the house and they took a moment just the two of them, perched on the tall chairs at the breakfast bar. “Guess things seem more settled when your parents aren’t at war and your dad isn’t strung out.”</p>
<p>“And how’s that going?”</p>
<p>“Not perfect. Not terrible.” He shrugged. “Better. More of a rhythm to my life now, work, home, the kids. I’m trying at least,” he paused as if reflecting on whether or not it was safe to say the next line, “trying not to be dad.”</p>
<p>Roman nodded, he understood his brother’s nervousness at admitting such a thing but for now they were on good terms and he was safe in the information that he had shared. He decided to use the confidential tone to raise something that had been on his mind for weeks now. “Listen, I wanted to float an idea.”</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p>“If I were to spend more time overseeing the production aspect of things –,”</p>
<p>Kendall smirked, “Is this a sideways move?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking more like, maybe what we need is more revolutionary.”</p>
<p>“In what way?” He wondered how much of this were Gerri’s words in Roman’s voice.</p>
<p>“Look,” he sank back his Whisky, “we’ve not touched this particular plot point for well over a year and far be it for me to rock the fucking boat when we’re just about on an even keel. But maybe we need to see Dad’s successor as less of a one and more of a three…”</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p>“Maybe the decisions resting on one pair of shoulders is where we go wrong, absolute power and all that shit. So, what if we share it, the three of us, play to our strengths, each of us oversee elements.”</p>
<p>“Three COOs?”</p>
<p>“For now, yeah, maybe something to raise with Dad at the next meeting.”</p>
<p>“You can tackle that fucking hardball then, because I’m not touching it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” he finished his drink; he knew better than to ask if he would have his brother’s support if he did raise the ideas. After all there was more than enough history of each one of them screwing the other over.</p>
<p>“You spoke to Shiv?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, “Thought she’d be pregnant by now.”</p>
<p>“Not the mother kind?” Kendall suggested and Roman thought of the many stories Gerri had told him about her go at motherhood, her regrets; maybe Kendall was right, maybe Shiv just didn’t want to give it all up for a kid.</p>
<p>“Maybe you’ve got the persuasive gene after all,” Kendall said, “who the fuck thought you’d be able to convince Gerri to attend a kids’ Halloween party.”</p>
<p>“There’s alcohol,” he smirked, “and I owe her a few dinners.” He yanked a cereal carton off of his arm from where it was half hanging on, “Besides, it works both ways. We’re off to DC next weekend, her daughter is having some party, and that’s no walk in the park let me tell you.”</p>
<p>“On our level of craziness?”</p>
<p>“Small potatoes, but interesting.”</p>
<p>“Never really saw Gerri as having a personal life, beyond Waystar she seemed pretty flat, to be honest.”</p>
<p>Roman wanted to list through all the wondrous things that made her whole, not flat, instead he said, “She likes you to think that, part of the effectiveness.”</p>
<p>“Smart ploy. You’re happy though, and that’s not a question, it’s easy to see. That dinner the other week, you were happy at that, seemed settled.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Less of a weirdo these days,” he stated, rolling round on the chair to look out to the dying party. “Feel like she’s on my side.” He admitted, “Takes some getting used to.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but weird, right? Like when you’re out with your friends and they’re all like what, thirty? And then going home to Gerri? Does she make you wash your hands and face before you come to bed?”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>Kendall laughed, “Sex stencilled in on the calendar and if you miss the meeting slot you’re out in the cold?”</p>
<p>“Don’t mock her,” Roman said seriously, “I know it’s just…” he shrugged, “But don’t, hey.”</p>
<p>“Hey sorry bro,” he patted his arm, feeling pretty bloody awkward.</p>
<p>“I best go find her and head home,” he said, getting to his feet and heading to the fridge. “She might have slaughtered Tom by now.”</p>
<p>“A hero to us all.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, yeah, quite.” He was closely studying the pictures on the fridge until he found the one he sought, “Gonna steal this one,” he said, unclipping it from the magnet it hung on – a ridiculous drunken selfie they’d taken, he and Gerri, in the dark corner of the room when he’d stolen Iverson’s camera and made the poor kid chase him to retrieve it. One to be framed for his table.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They lay facing each other in bed, the faint light of one dimmed lamp, Gerri with one hand tucked beneath her cheek; she knew she was more than halfway drunk, she had that soft, slightly dizzy feeling, where the edges of the world are in watercolour – but she was still aware of where she was, who she was with and the thoughts and reflections travelling through her mind.</p>
<p>She was happy, and it was a rare indeed to be able to not only feel that, but admit it.</p>
<p>“You know, you could have gone as the witch from Roald Dahl.” Roman teased, a hand resting on her hip on top of the bedsheets.</p>
<p>“I don’t have the nose for it,” she whispered in return.</p>
<p>“No, but I rather like the little bump in your nose.”</p>
<p>She didn’t fully smile, but there was the slightest curl at the edges of her mouth, suggesting to him that she wasn’t at all annoyed by his observation. “But I don’t have a bump in my nose,” she said very softly, her voice registering light amusement.</p>
<p>“Just a slight one, just here…” he touched her nose with his little finger. “It’s cute. From your glasses.” A momentary jerk of her chin. “And I like the way your nose wrinkles when you smile at me, here, and here.” He touched either side of her nose.</p>
<p>“None of these things are making me sound in the least attractive”</p>
<p>“They’re all extremely attractive.”</p>
<p>“What about your scar?”</p>
<p>“Scar?”</p>
<p>She pulled her hand out from beneath her face and touched the mark at the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>“Sledging accident,” he tipped his head back and snatched her finger in his mouth, nibbling on it. “I think I was maybe eleven, twelve. Shiv and I were racing, we argued, she hit me with her sled.”</p>
<p>“Christ, harsh.”</p>
<p>“We were cutthroat.”</p>
<p>“Some more than others one might presume,” she touched the scar again. “You must’ve had quite the headache.”</p>
<p>“Knocked an inch or two more of my brain cells out. Explains a lot.”</p>
<p>“Don’t do that,” she said softly, stroking her hand down his face.</p>
<p>He turned his head, took the opportunity to kiss her wrist. “You smell good, like some fucking aphrodisiac drug coming out of your pores.”</p>
<p>“It’s part of my witchy charms. Bewitching charms.”</p>
<p>He laughed at that, “I enjoy your ass too.”</p>
<p>“Sorry?” She laughed.</p>
<p>“Can really grab it,” he did just that, “stretching these silky pyjamas.”</p>
<p>“Is this meant to be flattering?”</p>
<p>“It is flattering,” he pressed her body closer to his, still gripping her ass, “always dated skinny girls before –,”</p>
<p>“Be careful,” she warned.</p>
<p>“– But you, perfectly round <em>phat</em> ass in those tight work outfits you slink about in.”</p>
<p>“Just when I think we’ve plummeted the depths of your seduction techniques you come out with a new one, you’re fucking miraculous really.”</p>
<p>He laughed at that, mouth already moving over her neck, his favourite tender spot at the very base where she always sighed when he touched it with his tongue.</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, head tilting back as she groaned frustrated, “So, are you going to keep prattling on, or get on with fucking me?”</p>
<p>“I sometimes feel you only want me for the dick action.”</p>
<p>“That is a hundred percent why I want you. Obviously.”</p>
<p>She was laughing as he quickly rolled her over.</p>
<p>“Dirty witch. Where’s that hat gone?”</p>
<p>“I’m not wearing the hat.”</p>
<p>“Oh, go on, just for me. Could make the sex amazing.”</p>
<p>“If you need me to wear a witch’s hat to make the sex amazing then we’re in real trouble.”</p>
<p>He nuzzled her neck, pressed his teeth in just hard enough to make a point, “No props needed.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It was raining lightly when they landed in DC, enough so that Gerri’s hair was curling out of its usual pristine style by the time they got into the car, her face peppered with rain drops. She shook her jacket out, “We made good time,” she commented and Roman recognised that for what it was – nerves – she didn’t do small talk, he’d always liked that, half the time she never even used ‘hello’ when greeting him either in person or on the phone, just a usually snapped ‘Roman’, and then launching into her topic. The abruptness was welcome because it meant she wasn’t bullshitting him.</p>
<p>“So, you’re nervous,” he stated.</p>
<p>“Not exactly. Unprepared.” She settled on. “Why the hell are we here, what’s this party really all about?”</p>
<p>“Promotion, you said.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and how often do you think I’ve been invited over to celebrate promotions in the past?”</p>
<p>“Fair point.”</p>
<p>There was a quick change at the hotel, it was already dark when they landed so there was little time for unpacking or settling in, not that they needed to, this was an overnight stay and nothing more. It seemed odd to him that for the past few weekends they had been busy either together or apart – he’d taken a trip to Vegas with friends; she taken the opportunity of the empty apartment to invite some of hers over for Sunday brunch, he had no idea what women talked about, but he felt like he might have been a topic of conversation, but when he’d flown home the following Monday she’d seemed genuinely pleased to see him when he’d rolled into the office mid-afternoon with a cracking headache and heavyset eyes. Then there had been a Saturday where they had to work, the Sunday spent at his father’s having lunch, the ridiculous Halloween party he forced her to attend. He enjoyed the social side of life, but he thought perhaps he was beginning to age when what was on his mind was the blissful image of them spending a quiet weekend alone trapped in the apartment, he almost hoped there would be snow soon so there would be little reason to go outdoors.</p>
<p>The closer it got to Christmas the more apprehensive he felt about flying home and facing his mother, he’d seen her a couple of times through the year but always alone, never with Gerri. He knew they were in for some backhanded comments, and his mothers were always so quick you ended up with whiplash. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it, or that he was unprepared for them, the thing that really bothered him was that she might deliver some home truths and that perhaps Gerri might take them to heart – he was under no illusion that she would be upset or hurt by his mother’s comments, she was tougher than he was! But there was still a fear that potentially his mother could point something out that made Gerri reconsider the entire thing. After all, he’d always been a bit of an imbecile, and he could always rely on his mother to highlight that very fact.</p>
<p>She wore a black lace dress, he’d seen her in it before but couldn’t pinpoint where, and there had been a change of venue. No nice restaurant where he could order a steak and dive into a pool of red wine, but Blair’s apartment, and that was a whole other level of intimacy that he hadn’t mentally prepared for. Their car picked them up late, which meant it was already busy when they arrived. Gerri had some silver gift bag dangling from her arm and he carried a bottle of château margaux, because if his mother had taught him anything it was that you never attended a party without taking a gift, and besides, he had still got it into his head that he was going to educate himself when it came to wine and in some ways he hoped by taking this bottle it was showing something of his credentials, though in reality he had merely skipped through Google until he found a suitable option. Quickfire education.</p>
<p>He was glad it was busy, that there was music playing and the lights dimmed, because it meant he could hide, preferably by the makeshift bar.</p>
<p>“This is a grown-up party,” he whispered by her ear, “no fancy dress prize here.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” She was distracted, and he felt like if he wasn’t there she wouldn’t particularly notice at the moment as she scanned the apartment.</p>
<p>“You been here before, right?” his free hand was on her hip, and he stuck close to her back as they made their way through the rooms searching for her daughter.</p>
<p>“No, never.”</p>
<p>He would’ve liked to have pressed her on that but then when he reflected on it, he couldn’t remember one time his father had visited his apartment, he wasn’t even sure he’d know how to find it if it wasn’t for the fact that his driver stored that information.</p>
<p>They spotted Maisie first, arms draped around a tall beast of a man as they sat perched in the wide windowsill overlooking the city.</p>
<p>“Mom,” she jumped down heading to greet them, and her blonde curls appeared even wilder and freer than before. “You look lovely.”</p>
<p>“I feel overdressed,” Gerri said, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t realise it was a casual jeans kind of thing. Is there anyone else here my age?”</p>
<p>“Oh god, mom, of course. Hi Roman,” she had a kind of look on her face that suggested mischief, it was the kind of thing that crossed Gerri’s features very rarely, though he was accustomed to it now when they were alone and she was at her most vulnerable or fun, when she would laugh freely with him and really let herself go.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he kissed her, and she smelt of something strong, a tangy vibrant sharpness that seemed so very different to the rich gentleness of her mother. Breathing in Gerri was a bit like breathing in luxury; musk, pink peppers, peonies. Maisie was like meeting the young sprite-like version of her.</p>
<p>“Mom,” Maisie was holding Gerri’s hand, “this is Jaylani.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” she leant in closer to her daughter, straining to hear her over the music.</p>
<p>“You can just call him Jay.”</p>
<p>Gerri looked up to the tower of a man standing behind Maisie, she held her hand out quizzically and looked him up and down, “And what is it you do again, exactly?”</p>
<p>“I wrestle.”</p>
<p>Roman laughed into his hand, feigning a cough and eliciting a giggle from Maisie.</p>
<p>“He lives in my apartment block, mom, we met on the stairs.”</p>
<p>“Ahh, okay, so that’s handy then if you, potentially, break up.”</p>
<p>Jay laughed, “She told me you’d break balls.” He said in a heavy European accent.</p>
<p>“And she was right.”</p>
<p>“Let’s get you a drink, mom,” she steered her towards the bar; Roman hovered for a second deciding on whether or not to follow or stick with the wrestler, but when he stood next to him he felt decidedly less of a man so followed Gerri instead.</p>
<p>“Where’s your sister?” He heard her saying as he caught them up.</p>
<p>“I’ll find her, she’s got news.”</p>
<p>“Well, I figured as much.” She thrust a glass of wine into Roman’s hand, watching as her youngest daughter retreated across the room. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Didn’t realise I was dragging you away for this, if I’d known I would have said stay home for the weekend.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” he shrugged, “good music.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like noise to me. Christ, why am I here? She knows I don’t fit in with things like this, who are all these people? And where’s the food, I’m starving.”</p>
<p>“Nice place though,” he said looking around, “I like the high ceilings.”</p>
<p>She glared at him, “You know now we’re having these renovations done you notice far too many small details about rooms. And are you going to put that bottle of wine down?”</p>
<p>“Fuck no, no way I’m dumping it here for some cretin to quaff. This is gonna score me some points.”</p>
<p>She half-smiled at that, one eyebrow raised, “You need to score points?”</p>
<p>“All helps.”</p>
<p>“If it’s like this we’ll do an hour and then go find somewhere to eat,” she was already mentally running through a list of possibilities, places she enjoyed that they could potentially talk their way into last minute. “I had my eyebrows done for this!”</p>
<p>But then Blair was there, and she looked brighter and happier than Roman ever imagined she could look – she’d seemed such a stoic individual, he was unsure if she could even relax enough to reach orgasm. Her hair was down and loose and she smiled continually as she moved towards them.</p>
<p>“Mom, I thought you’d changed your mind,” for a moment she looked like she might hug her mother, only she didn’t, she just touched her arm. “I’m glad you didn’t.”</p>
<p>“Are you already drunk?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” she glanced at Roman, “Hi, you’re still hanging on in there then?”</p>
<p>“Skin of my teeth.”</p>
<p>“Your pool game improved?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, remembering that slow Sunday in his apartment trying to make small talk and soften the bridge between himself and Gerri’s children.</p>
<p>“Still working on it,” he said and thrust the bottle at her, “Congratulations on your er promotion and what have you. Just, you know, don’t put that out for the masses because it’s a special… well, I read about it, should be pretty decent.”</p>
<p>Blair laughed at his spluttered explanation, “I’ll go hide it away.”</p>
<p>“What is this?” Gerri snapped, “Why am I here for this? I mean, this promotion, you haven’t even explained.”</p>
<p>“Mom, there is no promotion, okay. I just needed a reason to get you here and I know your number one hatred is being lied to, or manipulated, but I wanted it to be a surprise, okay. Get you here before you go off.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, <em>go off</em>?”</p>
<p>“You know how you can be sometimes. Look, I want you to meet someone. So just hang on there. Okay. I’ll be back.”</p>
<p>Gerri bit down on her lip, “Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” She whispered to Roman, “One fucking daughter dating Mr Universe over there and now what?”</p>
<p>“Well, I wouldn’t worry about Maisie, that’s not a meeting of minds, she’s getting the most out of him, believe me.”</p>
<p>“I do not want to think about that.”</p>
<p>“Just saying, that guy is packed. But I bet its over by Christmas.”</p>
<p>She turned back to the bar, refilling her glass, wondering if her daughters had said the same thing about her and Roman – it had been made abundantly clear at their dinner that they thought she was only using him for sex, a kind of middle-aged last-chance-saloon to make the most of it before the entire body dried up and stopped working.</p>
<p>She was aware of Roman shifting beside her, his arm brushing hers as he stood up a little straighter, “Ohhh… Holy shit…” he mumbled beneath his breath, a warning tone to his voice. She glanced back over her shoulder, mouth dropping open as she did so. “Prepare yourself,” he said quickly before her brain could even register what he meant.</p>
<p>“Mom, this is Emma,” Blair said, holding the hand of a pretty red head, “my partner, my girlfriend.” She breathed deeply, her words shuddering a little as she spoke the next line. “My fiancée, mom, this is our engagement party.”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ Almighty,” Gerri breathed out in one long exclamation, mouth open, head tilted down as she gazed over her glasses at the young lady her daughter had brought to meet her.</p>
<p>Roman gripped her arm from behind, willing her to be calm. He could imagine his father’s reaction in this situation; he had faith Gerri wouldn’t be the same.</p>
<p>“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Ms Kellman,” Emma said, her perfectly clipped accent screamed good breeding. “Thank you so much for coming to our home.”</p>
<p>“She’s pregnant!” Gerri stated, as if other words wouldn’t form but the obvious.</p>
<p>“Yes, mom.”</p>
<p>“But… she’s pregnant.” The usual patient, measured nature of Gerri’s voice was quickly disappearing, and her quick responses seemed blunted. Surprise of the business-kind was her forte, she was prepared for any one of the bastards to turn on her unexpectedly – but this was her daughter. Her amazingly beautiful smart daughter. “How… <em>How</em>…?”</p>
<p>“Maybe we should have this conversation elsewhere,” Maisie said, grabbing her mother’s arm, “Let’s go into one of the bedrooms or something, hey, out of earshot.”</p>
<p>Roman dutifully followed the group of women, unsure if he was really invited but there was no way he was leaving Gerri alone, he’d never known her be shocked, by anything, ever. He closed the door behind him, leant back against it in a bid to make himself disappear.</p>
<p>“I’m feeling rather confused,” Gerri said.</p>
<p>“It’s not that hard mom, I’m gay.” Blair said steadily, as if she expected an argument and was already prepared for battle.</p>
<p>“Yes, I think I worked that part out by myself. And that’s fine, okay, I mean I’d often wondered but you were always so secretive with your life and you spoke of men and I just… shit…” she was babbling, felt like the solitary glass of wine she’d just consumed was making her head spin.</p>
<p>“Ms. Kellman we wanted to tell you for a while, but Blair felt…”</p>
<p>“How long have you two been together?”</p>
<p>Blair chewed on her bottom lip in the same nervous tell-tale way Gerri had. “Just over two years.”</p>
<p>“Two fucking years!” Gerri exclaimed, “And you couldn’t tell me?”</p>
<p>“You’re hardly easy to talk to mom, and besides don’t give me that shit, how long were you with him before you told us? Left us to find out through gossip magazines, society types cracking jokes about our mother fucking some kid.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Gerri sank down onto the bed, “we’re not going there again. This is entirely different.”</p>
<p>“How?” Blair stood before her mother, firm now, “Tell me why its different? Because I’m gay?”</p>
<p>“That’s rather a large life choice I feel like I should have known about,” She was unsure if she was angry at Blair for not telling her sooner, or herself for not working it out.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Blair folded her arms in a bid to protect herself, “And maybe if my parents hadn’t been so entirely wrapped up in their own existence they might have noticed this little detail, hey.”</p>
<p>“Don’t do that, you know I would have been supportive of it, whatever age you told me.”</p>
<p>“Dad wouldn’t,” Blair shrugged helplessly, “And you know that mom. For all his good, he was old-school, right wing, he wanted a husband for me, nice little house, couple of kids.”</p>
<p>“It would seem you have all of those things,” Gerri stated. She reached up and slid her glasses off, pinching her nose. “This is a hell of a lot of information to take on board,” she shook her head at her daughter, “And at a party? You thought you’d tell me at your engagement party?”</p>
<p>“I thought that maybe here, now, you couldn’t stop me.”</p>
<p>“Stop you?” She felt her chest pull tight; throat close up. “You think I have that power?”</p>
<p>Blair’s eyebrows rose, “Come on mom, you’ve got the power to do anything, you’re like a fucking force of nature. Don’t you think we were always in awe of that, always in your shadow? Christ, why do you think we both took our careers to other states, because we could never hope to live up to the Kellman name in New York.”</p>
<p>“That’s not fair,” Gerri said softly.</p>
<p>The room was quiet for a moment, as if too much had already been said, things that couldn’t be taken back, things that had changed their lives forever in the space of three minutes. The streetlight coming in through the open window was the only real source of light in the room and it cast long shadows. Gerri’s eyes were fixed on the floor, her hands face down either side of her on the bed, as if she were made of stone and in those few minutes she hardly even breathed as she tried to make sense of the information that had just been delivered.</p>
<p>“How,” she finally said again, her voice light and airy, “I mean, how are you…?” She looked between the two of them, at the way they glanced at each other and smiled contentedly. “Christ,” she ran her hand through her hair, “Look I’m being very stupid here but from recollection one needs a man to make a baby.”</p>
<p>“Not necessarily, mother,” Maisie said, and there was almost laughter to her voice.</p>
<p>Roman noted how she perched on the edge of a chest of drawers, as if waiting to swoop in and offer hugs when all of this was over, like some bright little star hanging around in the darkness.</p>
<p>“We just need the sperm from one.” Blair said. “Which we got. We discussed it, for a very long time, and in the end Emma decided she’d like to be the one to carry our baby.”</p>
<p>“Your baby…” She said, feeling faint, “you’re telling me, now, after all these years, that you’re living with a woman, and you’re having a baby with a woman.”</p>
<p>“And getting married to this woman, yes mom.” She gestured around, “And living with this woman. This is our home.”</p>
<p>Gerri shot a sharp look to Maisie, “Did you know about all this?”</p>
<p>“Hey, don’t blame me, I told her she should have told you about all of this before tonight. Way before.”</p>
<p>“Yeah no fucking doubt. Talk about springing it on me.”</p>
<p>“Ms. Kellman,” Emma said softly, one hand on her belly, “we want you to be involved. This is our family now, and we want you to be part of that.”</p>
<p>“Why now?” She asked, “Why not before, hmm, Blair?”</p>
<p>“Honestly, when would you have had the time, mother? Travelling all over the fucking world for Waystar, wiping their asses every minute of every day. Do you remember the last time you actually attended either mine or Maisie’s birthdays? You send expensive gifts and hope it will do.” She shrugged. “But things seemed different, the last year or so, you’ve seemed a little different.” She glanced at Roman. “You call us, text, you never did that, mom.”</p>
<p>There were too many emotions hitting her at once – guilt the overriding one, sweeping over every inch of her skin like some red wave, because Blair was right, she hardly ever called or texted or really kept a check on her daughters’ lives. In that moment she felt a little like she’d sold her soul to Waystar, and the best bits of her, the bits that really mattered, weren’t to be found around a boardroom table, they were standing there in that room.</p>
<p>So many questions formed, the realisation that she knew so little about either of her daughters’ lives. Maybe that was something that came with age, that you started to return to your family and cared more about them and what they thought about you and the need to be recognised as being part of something, part of a close-knit group that knew you well. Only they didn’t know her. And she didn’t know them. And that was a painful realisation.</p>
<p>She briefly thought of her own mother and the pain she still had at not being there when she died; she wondered if either Blair or Maisie would be there when she took her final breath, or would they be informed over the phone by a stranger and stoically plan her funeral from a distance. What would she actually mean to them when her life was over?</p>
<p>“Congratulations,” she offered, looking up at the pair of them, “you seem like you’re very happy together, and I hope you’ll continue to be.” It was the most genuine thing she could find to say in that moment because she didn’t want to hurt either of them and she certainly didn’t want to argue with them – her upset had nothing to do with her daughter’s choices, whether they be sexual preference or motherhood, her hurt stemmed from the fact that she was so far removed from her life that she was the last to know the most important pieces of information.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Blair said, “if it was wrong to do it this way, like some fucking pussy. But then you must recognise, mother, that you can be intensely terrifying when you choose to be.”</p>
<p>Roman smirked at that, then quickly covered his face with his hand, the silver gift bag Gerri had thrust at him dangling from his arm.</p>
<p>“I bought you earrings, when in reality I should’ve been buying you an engagement gift…” she said, gesturing towards the bag, slapping her hands on her knees. “Or maybe a baby gift.” It felt odd to say that word, every time her eyes landed upon Emma and her bulging stomach she couldn’t quite reconcile that with the fact that her daughter was going to be a mother, that soon there would be a baby in their lives and that she needed to make an effort to be part of that. Her brain hadn’t yet ventured into the area of ‘grandmother’, and she planned to avoid it for as long as she possibly could.</p>
<p>“Earrings are always good,” Blair smiled, and she held her hand out, helping Gerri to her feet. They didn’t hug, it wasn’t in their nature, but a squeezed hand potentially meant just as much, especially between two women who had always found it so difficult to share their emotions with one another.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Despite the fact there wasn’t much in the way of real food, nothing beyond party nibbles, Gerri found she had no appetite when they skulked out just after nine. She showered whilst Roman ordered food for himself, put her pyjamas on and got straight into bed. The news was mumbling along in the background and she half listened, half didn’t.</p>
<p>“You sure you don’t want anything?” He asked, perching on the bed beside her.</p>
<p>She shook her head, squeezed his hand, “You can eat here though, chat to me, maybe.”</p>
<p>He liked that, she didn’t want to be alone, she wanted to be with him.</p>
<p>“About the news?”</p>
<p>She rolled onto her back, “Which news exactly?”</p>
<p>“Well, not this bullshit,” he gestured toward the screen. “Perhaps about the fucking massive pieces of information shared tonight. I mean, that was a bit of a shot in the arm, right.”</p>
<p>“Made me feel foolish,” she admitted, “a lot of people there, and every single one of them knew more than me.”</p>
<p>“Maybe not, where were, what was her name again, Emily?”</p>
<p>“Emma.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, where were her parents?”</p>
<p>“Hiding them from me?”</p>
<p>“You’re not that terrifying,” he leant over to kiss her, “just on the right side of terrifying, the side that makes my dick hard.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, “Can always rely on you to lower the tone.”</p>
<p>“It’s a gift. Drink?” he asked as he rose and she nodded in kind.</p>
<p>He returned with two glasses of Whisky and a pizza box balanced on his palm.</p>
<p>“You’re all class,” she said as she watched him settle to eat.</p>
<p>“You sure you don’t want some?”</p>
<p>She shook her head, sat silent for a moment watching him, half listening to the news.</p>
<p>“This isn’t what you signed up for,” she said, settling back on the pillows, “I mean a grandmother, Christ.” She took a long drink. “You know, one might understand if you chose a different path.”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“A get out clause, Roman, every good deal has one.” She shrugged, “If this is too much,” she rested her head back, blue eyes wide and intense, “this isn’t what you signed up for.” She said again and he caught on to her meaning, putting down his slice of pizza so he could really focus on her. “Counting your blessings that I didn’t say yes to your proposal the other month, I mean shit, you’d be engaged to a grandmother now, and that in turn would make you a very young grandfather.”</p>
<p>He understood what she meant, it was bullshit, easily dismissed, though perhaps not when he really thought on it.</p>
<p>“Does it change who you are?” He asked.</p>
<p>“I guess not,” she shrugged, took another drink, “Who knows, I’ve never been one before. I hope I’m a damn sight better at it than I was mother.”</p>
<p>“Does it change how you feel about me?”</p>
<p>“No,” she said more gently.</p>
<p>“Well then, don’t talk such crap.” He brushed his fingers over hers where they held her glass, “Hot grandmother, if you ask me.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.” But she smiled, finished her drink, crunched ice between her teeth.</p>
<p>“Text Blair, ask her to meet us for lunch tomorrow or something.”</p>
<p>She was surprised by that, who would have thought Roman wanted to deliberately thrust himself into the middle of family drama. “Isn’t our flight at eleven?”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll push it back, give us a few hours. I think it would be a useful move, and you’re always about being seen to make the right moves.”</p>
<p>She appreciated that; her business acumen being used against her. “Alright.”</p>
<p>“So…” he picked at the pizza crust, “…do it now, if she says yes I’ll make some calls, make a booking.”</p>
<p>“You’re being pushy,” she said, then dangled her glass at him, “top up, please, less ice this time.”</p>
<p>“Yes sir,” he kissed her again, “text your daughter.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When morning comes she has hardly slept but there’s light coming from beneath the curtains and her brain automatically tells her it’s time to get up when the clock hits five. She is out-of-sync and there’s this thudding in her head, over on the left side behind her eye and creeping behind her nose. She turns, threads her arms around Roman’s warm body and presses herself against him, hoping this will calm her, rest her mind, as if she could absorb his sleep.</p>
<p>She feels his hand move to stroke her back beneath the sheets, a kiss to her head. She dozes for a while, but there’s too much going on and sleep won’t fully come.</p>
<p>“You sleep?” He whispered; face half hidden in her hair.</p>
<p>“Mm, very little. What time is it?”</p>
<p>“Too early, get some rest.”</p>
<p>“My brain won’t switch off,” she said, pressing kisses to his chest. “Talk to me, distract me.”</p>
<p>“What you wanna talk about?”</p>
<p>“Anything, work, something. Christ my head hurts.”</p>
<p>“Cos you’re tired.” He kissed her head again. “What you want for Christmas? Make a list now and I’ll send it to Santa. Have you been a good girl?”</p>
<p>“I never am,” she mumbled against his chest then turned, falling onto her back, stretching. “Don’t be too extravagant.”</p>
<p>“I can’t help it, you’re the kind of woman who deserves to be draped in gold.”</p>
<p>He drifted back to her side, a hand snaking down between her legs and touching her. “Let me make you feel better.”</p>
<p>She parted her thighs at the tingle of pleasure his touch brought, closed her eyes.</p>
<p>“You always make me feel good.” She breathed gently, focusing in on how the tips of his fingers stroked her, the tightening and heat meeting in her lower belly.</p>
<p>“What I’m here for.” His mouth is on her ear, breath hot as he licks the shell of it. She twists her head, finds his mouth with hers and kisses him deeply, somewhat sloppy in the dull morning light, taking his tongue into her mouth as she arches up to him. She hears herself moan and the whispered response of her name swallowed up in his warm, welcoming mouth. Kissing him is a surprising lusciousness, especially given that they’re this far into this whole thing now. She could go hours just lying there kissing him, having him kiss her. But he’s eager, clearly wants to bring her to orgasm, and he knows how to get her there now, has studied and paid attention every single time they’ve done this.</p>
<p>The angle is awkward but deliciously slow, two fingers moving inside her, his thumb rubbing the sweetest spot as he does so. She’s got one leg thrown over his, feels indecent for it, but they’re so wrapped up in each other it wouldn’t matter what he did, or how she responded, it would feel completely right.</p>
<p>When he slides down the bed and replaces his fingers with his tongue she climaxes almost immediately, with her legs thrown over his shoulders and the silk nightshirt she’s wearing pushed up to her breasts. He’s got his fingers scrunched up in it and she can smell herself in the air, heartbeat pounding in her ears as she feels her body float back down to the bed, is aware of the mattress beneath her, the way her face is turned and pushed into the pillow and Roman’s hands moving over her skin, his lips on her neck, her hum of pleasure.</p>
<p>“Now sleep,” he says, and she tucks up against him without a word, dozes.</p>
<p>He slips out sometime later, showers and dresses. Sets up his laptop in the adjoining lounge and rings for a pot of coffee. There’s the normal morning emails despite it being a weekend but he’s better at sifting through them now, discards the ones he knows it’s somebody else’s job to deal with, replies to the ones that require immediate attention.</p>
<p>He figures he’ll wake her around ten, give her time to shower and dress, pack her things before they head for lunch. There are too many things he’s never been mature enough to deal with over the years; finding himself as some sort of broker of peace for his older girlfriend and her pregnant daughter was never a role he’d cast himself in. But then again, getting up early to work on a Sunday was never reality neither. She’s right in what she said though, at nearly forty he does not see himself as playing the role of Grandfather, in all honesty he can’t see her as Grandma neither, but then neither of his Grannies were the stereotypical soft, warm and cuddly type. If they were engaged now it would be another reality he’d have to face, having that label, but he has to make his brain stop and reflect to really understand how he feels about it – an unnatural action at the best of times.</p>
<p>When she pads in barefoot, hair in disarray, and smiling at him, he thinks he’s not ready to be a grandfather. Because he hasn’t even been a father. And you can’t have one without the other.</p>
<p>“Morning again,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, leaning on his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Hey, you want me to pour you some coffee?” He minimises his emails and isn’t sure why.</p>
<p>“Hmm, I will, then I’m going to clean up.” She kisses him again, rests her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for sending me to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Ha, anytime, it’s a real skill.”</p>
<p>Her hands slide down the front of his shirt, “One I’ve enjoyed honing. Did you book for lunch?”</p>
<p>“Yes, and texted Blair the place. All sorted.”</p>
<p>“Then thank you for that too,” she bites his ear, wanders off to the bathroom, and he opens his screen, reads through the information he’s been sent as he listens to the water running in the other room.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It surprises her how comfortable they look together when she and Roman arrive at the coffee shop; her daughter’s arm tucked around Emma’s back, leaning in as they whisper and giggle. She can feel Roman’s hand in hers, and he squeezes just slightly as they go inside – she doesn’t need someone to prop her up, but it’s nice just the same.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Emma says when she spots them, and there’s the usual polite hellos and kisses.</p>
<p>“It occurred to me,” Gerri says when they’re settled and have placed orders, “that I didn’t ask questions last night – when you’re due, for instance?”</p>
<p>“April,” there’s the unconscious pat to the stomach, a rolling of the palm over her growing bump. “And no, we didn’t find out the sex.”</p>
<p>Gerri nods, “Probably wise. The excitement is always…” she spreads her napkin in her lap for something to do, to break eye contact – it’s unlike her to feel ill at ease. Beside her Roman fills her wine glass.</p>
<p>“So, like, if it’s acceptable to ask,” he starts, “which it probably isn’t, but fuck it, but like is the father involved or anything? Or is it just their junk you wanted?”</p>
<p>He can feel Gerri’s eye roll without even looking at her, but Emma laughs and Blair sniggers, so he figures he’s okay.</p>
<p>“No, not involved. There’s the opportunity for our child to find out later in life, if they so wish.”</p>
<p>“Alright, so, just a donor, like one of these banks?”</p>
<p>“Exactly that.”</p>
<p>“Wonder how much they pay.” He said, unfastening the button on his jacket and leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs, “I mean, I’m not going to use mine in that way but what if there’s prime material here, I could be contributing great wealth to the childless women of America.”</p>
<p>“You’re a fucking selfless hero,” Gerri deadpans, voice like stone.</p>
<p>“Just saying.”</p>
<p>“How do you know you won’t use it?” Blair asked, hands looped together as she leant forward, “I mean I know you and mum won’t… but like what if…”</p>
<p>“We break up?” Gerri asked, wide-eyed.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean that. I mean what if you decide to have a baby outside of your relationship with mum, you never know. As you get older.”</p>
<p>“I think I’m old enough already,” he said, awkward suddenly, because it was a topic he’d rather not dwell too much on. “Not for me… kids...” He pressed his hand onto Gerri’s where it lay on the table, “Like your mum too much.”</p>
<p>She tilted her head slightly towards him, regarding him, lips pursed.</p>
<p>“Big decision to make,” Emma said, “having kids. We agonised. But then we kept coming back to it, and it dawned on us that being parents was something we really truly wanted.”</p>
<p>Gerri thinks there’s a right order to do things in and they probably should have gotten married before starting the whole process, but it’s done now so little else to do but make the best of it all.</p>
<p>“And the wedding?” She prompts, “Cutting it fine.”</p>
<p>“February, hopefully.” Blair says. “If we can pin down a venue.”</p>
<p>“Here?”</p>
<p>“Yes mom, here, in DC.”</p>
<p>“Okay, well, I’ll make some calls, pull some strings.”</p>
<p>“Mom…”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Don’t take over,” Blair said firmly.</p>
<p>“What she means is thank you so much for offering to help,” Emma said before Gerri could speak. “We’re very grateful for it.”</p>
<p>Gerri nodded, “Yes, well, I forget sometimes I don’t need to organise everything.” She sank back her wine. “But I will pay. I insist on that.” She held Blair’s gaze until her daughter nodded. “And to give you away? Your uncle, perhaps, instead of your father?”</p>
<p>“Christ no, he can barely walk these days without the aid of alcohol. I was thinking I might just, you know, walk myself.”</p>
<p>“And you, Emma? Your father?”</p>
<p>“Yes, he’ll give me away. We should really arrange for you all to meet before the ceremony.”</p>
<p>“<em>Why</em>?” Gerri and Blair said in unison and Roman laughed at the synchronisation.</p>
<p>“Your mom could do it,” Emma said later when the food had arrived, “walk with you.”</p>
<p>“Oh I really don’t think,” Gerri dabbed her napkin to her mouth.</p>
<p>“Not really –,” Blair paused, a little panicked. “Not really mom’s thing.”</p>
<p>Gerri was silent at that, leant back in her chair and fiddled with her wine glass as she listened to the chatter going on around her; their discussions over Maisie’s latest boyfriend and their bets on how long it would last.</p>
<p>“How do you know?” She interrupted.</p>
<p>“Sorry?” Blair said.</p>
<p>“How do you know it’s not my thing?” She shrugged. “I could do it; I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“I just figured,” Blair started, then stopped herself, feeling Emma’s hand on her leg beneath the table. “That’d be nice, mom, if you want to. No pressure.”</p>
<p>“No pressure.” She repeated.</p>
<p>“When did you decide to have children, Ms. Kellman?” Emma asked.</p>
<p>“You must start calling me Gerri,” she replied, “and it was…” she glanced at Blair, wondered how much she really knew, how much she’d guessed. In the end she decided to edit her response, because revealing over lunch that you had children as part of the deal with your husband was in no way conducive to happy families. “It happened naturally,” she said, “once we’d got married and had spent some time alone, it just seemed natural to start a family.”</p>
<p>“I’m terrified of it all,” Emma admitted.</p>
<p>“I remember the first time I held her feeling that,” she said, voice distant, “it’s very odd, overwhelming, when they hand you this tiny bundle with a screwed-up face who keeps yelling at you.”</p>
<p>“Gee thanks,” Blair said, but the truth was she’d never heard her mom speak like this.</p>
<p>“It’s true. They’re so demanding, be prepared for that. And it’s emotional and you want to cry all the time.” She breathed deeply, feeling her cheeks warm from the wine. “I wasn’t a natural mother, by any stretch of the imagination, but in all honesty when they hand you your baby and you feed him or her for the first time… Well, there is no other love like it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the delay with these, I had hoped to get more done during half term but only got a couple of chapters written. Still got a few more ideas left to go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. She Said Take Her To Dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roman lingers at work that Friday, because she had requested the apartment for herself and her friends for a pre-Christmas dinner and, despite his outward appearance of bravado and mouth, the plain simple truth is he would do anything for her.</p><p>He spins his chair to face the blackness of the city when his brain reaches saturation point, is flicking his office lights on and off with the remote on his desk when his door opens and closes and Frank slips into the chair across from him.</p><p>“This is some kind of revelation,” He says, and he’s got that easy tone about him, the one that makes you think he’s going to drop off to sleep at any point or has consumed one Whisky too many. “Friday night and you hanging around in the office, things must be bad.”</p><p>“Says the man doing exactly the same.”</p><p>“Gerri?”</p><p>“Not what you think,” he almost sulks at the insinuation of an argument. “Requested the apartment, some night with her friends.”</p><p>“Look at you, domesticated puppy.”</p><p>“Woof, woof.” He spun his chair back to his desk. “You eaten? Fancy a bar and a steak?” He wouldn’t usually ask but they’re on better terms these days and besides, he’s never really enjoyed eating out alone.</p><p>Frank shrugged, “Sure.”</p><p>When they’re two beers in the chatter comes more freely, and Frank is liberal with his comments, he’s never been very good at holding his liquor and when Roman plies him with yet more booze in the form of shots his tongue loosens.</p><p>“Your problem is you want it all immediately. Or it was your problem. Grown up a bit now. Learned the ropes, which is what I was trying to get you to do for years.”</p><p>“Your point being you what, fucking saved me from myself?”</p><p>“Course not. She did. Has. Hasn’t she?”</p><p>He doesn’t answer that, spins his empty shot glass on the table and waves to the barman for a refill.</p><p>“She says I owe her.”</p><p>“She’s right. But for which bit, exactly?”</p><p>“Take your pick…” Frank rolls his eyes and Roman wonders just which images have passed behind his eyes. He interrupts him quickly at the passing thought that Frank might, at some point, have imagined Gerri naked. “Halloween, I’m still paying off.” He says quickly. “Christmas at the castle – an ongoing debt. Take her to dinner, she says.”</p><p>Frank sucked on his beer, “And so it’s?”</p><p>“Momofuku Ko.”</p><p>“Nice.”</p><p>“It’s kind of a <em>thing</em>,” he shrugged, “Japan. Nevermind.”</p><p>Frank laughed, “You’ve come some distance, kid. Two years ago were still some jumped up shit who couldn’t find his own asshole.”</p><p>“Yeah. Always an issue.” He sliced into his steak, noted the rowdy group a few tables down; festive celebrations. “How come you’re late on a Friday? Home life not so homely?”</p><p>“Not for a while, old man makes old man mistake – tale as old as time.” He waved his fork at Roman. “You got a good thing going on, don’t fuck it up.”</p><p>“Not a chance.” He said sincerely, signalling for two more beers, he better slow down after that, didn’t want to turn up at home slurring in front of her friends.</p><p>“Gonna marry her?”</p><p>Roman scowled, almost choked on his meat. <em>Did the old git know something?</em> Surely not, she would never breathe a word and he certainly hadn’t.</p><p>“She won’t, right?” Frank laughed, swapping his empty beer bottle for the new full one. “Not a shock.”</p><p>“Oh?” Roman was intrigued by this but kept his voice neutral, unwilling to show disappointment, “How come?”</p><p>Frank shrugged, “Always took her for a loner really, always got the sense she regretted marrying in the first place. It’s what you do, isn’t it, hook up, marry, make babies. You don’t fancy that?”</p><p>He sucked his beer between his teeth, letting it settle on the back of his tongue, “Which bit?”</p><p>“Old ball and chain. No chance of kids running around with…” He seemed to forcibly stop himself before he said her name, as if the understanding had only just caught up through the fog of his brain.</p><p>Roman shrugged again, “Nobody I know has a decent marriage,” he said, “hardly a ringing endorsement for it.” It was odd to him, spinning this line, when despite the months that had passed – and how well the living arrangements were panning out – it still felt raw to replay his proposal. Disappointment still clung to the memory, and yet he couldn’t really articulate why. He wasn’t used to losing, he would like to chalk it up to that, but no, life experience for this particular Roy had been closely linked to losing.</p><p><em>‘You’re the best of them,</em>’ he heard in Gerri’s voice, in her softer moments when she held him in bed and cradled his face in her hands.</p><p>“You’ve turned out alright kid,” Frank said, shovelling fries into his mouth.</p><p>“Thousands on therapy,” Roman deadpanned in return. “Gets you anything.”</p><p>*</p><p>Gerri had kicked her shoes off after dinner, leading her friends from the dining room and into the second lounge area – it was her favourite spot because Roman had this wonderful fire installed and this expanse of white couches stretching around it. She spent most of her nights here, either working or simply being with him. Gradual touches of her had appeared over the weeks; flowers at first, the odd book, until eventually she found herself bringing things from her own apartment – tasteful art or the glass sculptures she liked to collect.</p><p>In terms of décor, she was the more rustic, but oddly their tastes weren’t all that different. Clean, sharp lines, shades of grey, white, and wall-length art adding the odd jerk of colour. She figured, before she knew him, that he picked things based on their monetary value rather than their aesthetics. That some designer had emailed over options and he’d flicked through and ticked a few. Now she knew him well she realised that wasn’t in the least accurate. He was serious about few things, but once he got his head into something (like the wine thing) he stuck with it. Art was one of those things. He followed the latest names, attended a few shows, dragged her along now which she didn’t mind all that much.</p><p>She’d purchased a couple of pieces for him for Christmas gifts, though of course there was no way she was having them flown over to England so he could unwrap them before they left, or when they returned, depending on how it all fell.</p><p>She had a bet with him that he’d never read one single book that adorned the many bookcases around the place. He had so far avoided laying down actual money. But the crime ones she’d started him on were in his office by his desk so if he were ever to read something she’d realised it would be found on that shelf. He had a picture of her on his home desk now too, another of his family at Shiv’s wedding, she wasn’t accustomed to feeling important but it was a sensation she was growing used to.</p><p>“So now we all know where you spend your evenings,” Laura said, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. “Some fucking view.”</p><p>“He has a taste for the elaborate,” Gerri said, pouring them all wine, the caterers dismissed.</p><p>“It’s very… pristine…” Laura added, “Not dissimilar from yours.”</p><p>“Perhaps we have things in common after all,” Gerri teased, pulling her feet up onto the couch and tucking them beneath her.</p><p>“You doubted it?”</p><p>“No,” she sucked the wine against her tongue, “but you did.”</p><p>Laura sank down into the couch opposite, “I just hoped there was more than sex.”</p><p>“Why?” Amanda laughed, “make the most of it... You still keeping up, Gerri?” She teased.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean, all that energy wrapped up in his tight little body, not flagging, are you?” Laura teased.</p><p>“Fuck the lot of you.” She was feeling giddy, the alcohol making her mind swim. “But yes, I’m still holding up my side of things,” she giggled – she actually giggled and her friends laughed.</p><p>“This is the most scandalous I’ve ever known you,” Amanda said, “and I’ve known you like, what, seventeen years now. You bad girl.”</p><p>“I feel it, I’m like…” she paused, momentarily reflected on whether she should reveal so much, but the room was warm and the mood fun and she so rarely let loose. “I’m always in the mood.” She admitted. “Like, <em>always</em>… it’s a first for me.”</p><p>Laura laughed the loudest, “Jammy bitch!”</p><p>“I know, right, I’ve never been insatiable before. It’s a whole new world!” She fell back on the couch laughing.</p><p>“Hey, as long as you can still manage it I say enjoy it, it’s wonderful,” Laura said, “as long as you can hold your legs in the air, keep it going.”</p><p>“Oh my god, you can’t say that!” But she was laughing hysterically, and that in itself was wonderful.</p><p>“You’re so happy,” Amanda said, “that’s really obvious. Really lovely.”</p><p>“Mm, let’s not dwell on the soft stuff too much,” she insisted, “we all know I’m no good at that.”</p><p>“We might beg to differ,” Laura said, then she gestured about the room, “clearly Roman certainly would. My guess is he’s happy too.”</p><p>“Oh god yes, he must be ecstatic, that fucking picture gallery?” Martha spluttered, gesturing in the direction of their bedroom. “Come on. He worships you.”</p><p>“You weren’t meant to see that, but until the rooms are finished there’s only that hallway through… Anyhow, it’s embarrassing, I’ve asked him repeatedly to get rid of them.”</p><p>“No don’t, it’s great. Fancy being seen as a fucking goddess by some guy at this point in life.”</p><p>“Christ,” Gerri rolled her eyes, “It’s this rather than the ‘<em>wall of Gerri’</em>.”</p><p>“The what?” Laura gasped, wide-eyed with excitement.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”</p><p>“You can’t not detail,” Martha insisted, reaching to the plate of candied fruit on the coffee table.</p><p>“He’s got this fucking ridiculous idea of having a wall with like some huge portrait of me, literally wall-size, like a gallery.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing to his dick? You got some tricks we all need to know?”</p><p>“Clearly,” Gerri preened, eyebrows raised – she felt oddly powerful at that moment, and unusually like she wanted to open up. “He’s got this idea of us buying some ‘country place’, somewhere we can head out to at weekends to escape anything connected to Waystar.”</p><p>“That’s cute.”</p><p>“It is, I guess, in a way. He’s been learning to sail, which he seems to enjoy, and he thinks we’ll get horses because he knows I enjoy riding – and don’t make that joke!”</p><p>“But… you don’t want to?” Martha asked softly.</p><p>She shrugged, “I don’t know, it seems very serious, like planning for a future or… taking it somewhere serious.”</p><p>“Isn’t it serious already?” Laura asked, “All this, you gave up your apartment, that independence, to live with him. I actually never thought you’d do that, never live with anyone again, not after Baird.”</p><p>She bit down on her lip considering.</p><p>“Let’s talk about something else,” Amanda said, briefly touching Gerri’s foot where it rested on the couch near her leg. “So, Fred has invited his brother for Christmas.”</p><p>“Christ, that’s dangerous,” Martha said, “what happened last time, almost murder over the Turkey, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Gerri half listened, staring into her wine, for a moment or two reflecting on just how much of her freedom – her independence – she’d given up for the chance to live with Roman. It had occurred to her numerous times just how her friends or colleagues or associates would view her for her relationship with Roman Roy. Her entire career could be jeopardised if things went wrong, she feared that from the start and had told him so, it seemed to rest upon something so fragile and temperamental and yet she had allowed it to happen – had been swept along with it all and enjoyed each and every second as she had done so. Losing her career was one thing, but she had actively given up her independence and moved into his home, so they could share their lives. She didn’t see this as weakness, in fact it increasingly seemed to her that it was the bravest decision she’d ever made.</p><p>She noticed Laura watching and gave her a small smile.</p><p>“Sorry,” her friend said, interrupting the other chatter. “Didn’t mean to bring Baird up.”</p><p>“No, it’s not that, it’s fine, really.” She chewed on her lip, watched Laura’s expectant expression. “Do you think it’s ridiculous, all of this, living with him? Talk of buying a country house like some fucking saddo couple.” She shook her head, talking herself into the negativity. “I can hear myself; I know it is.”</p><p>“It absolutely isn’t,” Martha assured her, her fingers tapping against Gerri’s ankle as she spoke. “What the fuck does it matter what anyone thinks.”</p><p>“I know that, just sometimes, in my weaker moments – which, granted, there are few of – I look in the mirror,” she sighed heavily, “I see this loose skin on my neck and my nipples point decidedly down these days and I think what the fuck would he want to be with me for when he could have supermodel he wanted. And that’s ridiculous because I already know the answer, I’m just tying myself in knots.”</p><p>“We don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Amanda assured her. “Honestly. You look amazing, really fabulous these days as it goes. And besides if you need a bit of a hoist then book yourself into some clinic for a week, nobody has to know.” She made an exaggerated motion of hoisting her breasts up higher.</p><p>She laughed at that, but it was nervous, hidden inside her glass as she drank. Her eyes meeting Laura’s again across the coffee table, the candles flickering, their rich scent filling the room with the smells of Christmas.</p><p>“It’s not ridiculous,” Laura said softly, “really. I know I was a bitch at the start,” she shrugged, “I was hard on you over it all. But, well, I can see you’re happy. Settled. So, I’m happy for you. And fuck your age or your nipples or whatever – Roman Roy is one lucky little motherfucker… literally!”</p><p>*</p><p>The car drops him off just after eleven thirty and he hopes it’s been sufficient time and she won’t be annoyed about the fact that he’s returning. It’s still odd – months in – to get home and find her there – wonderful and comforting but still odd nevertheless, therefore it is even stranger when he opens his apartment door to the sound of women laughing and chatting away in the lounge. He shrugs his coat off, hangs it and wanders through, and there is soft light from candles, the fire is lit and the room smells somehow warm and festive and he remembers there’s only a couple of weeks to go until Christmas. They have clearly exchanged gifts as decorated boxes sit around on the floor ready to be taken home, propped up against handbags, and he can tell from the tone of their chatter that a fair amount of wine has been consumed.</p><p>Gerri is sitting at one end of the couch, her legs tucked up beneath her and her face has a pink glow about it – he thinks she looks relaxed and happy and can’t help the smile that comes when she turns her face to him as he enters the room.</p><p>“Hi honey,” she says, and it broadens his smile that she would use a term usually reserved for the privacy of their bedroom (when she is naked and overwhelmed with pleasure). Her hand spreads across the back of the couch towards him and he briefly touches her fingers, kissing her cheek.</p><p>“Good evening, ladies,” he adopts his best seductive tone as he bounces around the room making sure to kiss every guest on the cheek, sidestepping his immediate desire to somehow crack an inappropriate joke or make some lewd remark to unseat his own awkwardness by shifting it to them instead.</p><p>“You’re very attentive,” Martha says, and he remembers her from the ball – it seems a lifetime ago now. “She’s training you well.”</p><p>“In every aspect,” he responds, moving to stand behind Gerri, one hand resting on her shoulder. “I trust you’ve all had a pleasant evening.”</p><p>“Wonderful. Thank you for the loan of your apartment.” Laura says. “And your caterers.” He remembers her too, has met her and her husband for dinner many times since the initial meeting; she is softer on him now, more easy-going, but he realises he's still not completely off the hook. Gerri makes quick introductions for the others and he nods amiably, knowing all the while five minutes from now he will not remember a single name, but he wouldn’t let her down.</p><p>“Did they meet expectations?” He asks of the caterers.</p><p>“Exquisite,” Gerri said gently, briefly looking up at him behind her, lifting the hand she had rested on the back of the couch and touching his.</p><p>“How’s your evening been?”</p><p>“Solitary,” he said, “worked late, called at a bar with Frank for food.”</p><p>“We’re all very grateful for the sacrifice –,”</p><p>“–And the loan of your girlfriend, Laura interrupted. “We know you two are joined at the hip now.”</p><p>“I do like her hips,” he teased, but they were all too drunk to really take offence.</p><p>“What do you think of the news?” Martha asked.</p><p>“Erm, which bit, exactly?” He was unclear which bits Gerri had actually told them, and in no way wanted to risk putting his foot in it by revealing too much.</p><p>Gerri leant forward and away from him to retrieve her wine glass from the coffee table, but when she sat back she tilted her neck in such a way he knew it invited his touch and he let his knuckles brush against the back of her neck, just beneath her hair, as he listened to the chatter.</p><p>“We’re still grappling with the grandmother idea, to be honest.” Martha added, clearly amused by it.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve been mocked all night about this,” she said, “about starting to knit, wear hairnets and the like.”</p><p>“She needs you to keep her young,” Laura said pointedly.</p><p>“I’m good at that bit,” he kissed Gerri’s head again, “I’m going to take a shower, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, and retire.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“I’m sure we’ll see each other again at some festive fiasco but I bid you goodnight for now.” He bowed extravagantly, backed out of the room and to the privacy of his bathroom.</p><p>*</p><p>“Thank you,” she said as she came into the bedroom in the early hours, sliding off the heavy bracelet from her wrist.</p><p>“No need, your apartment too.” The television was on, the faint light catching his face as he lay there staring at it, a half-drunk glass of Whisky in his hand.</p><p>She leant over him where he lay in bed, kissing him, “Yes, thank for you that too.”</p><p>“Shame office isn’t quite finished.”</p><p>“But nearly, and they were quite jealous of my dressing room, so a win all round.”</p><p>He’s half aware of her undressing, scooping her hair up out of the way, removing her glasses, jewellery.</p><p>“What you watching?”</p><p>“<em>Wisting</em>, Norwegian crime thing, it’s not bad, you gotta pay attention though.”</p><p>“My chatter disturbing you?”</p><p>“Hardly,” she is in her underwear and he watches more closely now, “you getting in?”</p><p>“Won’t be a second.”</p><p>She disappears to her bathroom, returns smelling of mint-fresh toothpaste, her face free of make-up, a pyjama top on but no bottoms. She snuggles up against him, forehead pressing to his arm before he lifts it around her, holds her close.</p><p>“You’ll fill me in on what I’ve missed?”</p><p>“Sure,” he reaches to find the remote and pause the show, “your night was good though, yes?”</p><p>“Very,” she kisses his chest, closes her eyes, “I might even feel the slightest bit festive.”</p><p>“You’re drunk.” He teased, his fingers tangling into the ends of her hair.</p><p>“Yes, I am.” She giggled, “Don’t tell me about the show, you watch it, I think I’ll be asleep in fifteen minutes.”</p><p>“Less.” He tilts her chin up, fingers stretching into her hair, kisses her mouth, “Glad you had fun. Did they like the apartment?”</p><p>“Jealous bitches,” she laughed, stretching against him, “they especially liked your picture table, which I had forgotten about to be honest, but it’s the only way through to my dressing room.”</p><p>“Ha, points for me?”</p><p>“If you’re into the kind of stalker thing you’ve got going on,” she teased, then fell onto her back looking up at him. “They thought it sweet, my own little loyal puppy.”</p><p>“That’s the second time tonight I’ve been referenced as a dog.”</p><p>“If the collar fits…” she yawned, covered her mouth, “Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s like two in the morning, go to sleep.” He kissed her again. “Don’t really mind the pictures, do you?”</p><p>She shook her head, lips pursed into a pout, “Makes me feel attractive. Wanted.” She toyed with her the collar of his t-shirt, “I think I’m getting more sex than the rest of them put together – smug me likes that.”</p><p>“And I enjoy smug you.”</p><p>She rolled over again, curled up beside him, “Keep making me smug.”</p><p>*</p><p>She’s late. The irony of it doesn’t escape him, after all, she was the one to request the date, made some statement over morning coffee weeks ago about it being important to keep the ‘romance alive’, and yet she’s the one who’s late. Not even a text to apologise. He orders alcohol, his phone resting in his hand but he is engaged in watching the chefs at work, figures even if she doesn’t show he’ll enjoy the food, eat enough for both of them.</p><p>When she does appear beside him she is wearing this glorious red blouse that hangs loose, hair up, diamonds sparkling at her ears and he forgives her instantly because she looks like the epitome of Christmas</p><p>“About fucking time,” he jabs, but imagines her changing in the car on the way from the office.</p><p>“Sorry,” she briefly brushes her deep red lips against his cheek, but her phone is in her hand and she’s still typing something out as he rubs away the lipstick mark from his cheek.</p><p>“You’ve done that funky thing with your eyes –” He says when her Martini is slid in front her.</p><p>“Mmm…” she doesn’t look up from her phone.</p><p>“That flick thing, I like it, you know,” he circles the rim of his glass with his thumb, “hey we on a date here or…?”</p><p>She doesn’t respond, leaves the silence stretching out as she types out a reply, he waits, she finishes, drops her phone into her bag and tucks it away.</p><p>“Done. So.” She takes hold of her glass, knocks it against his, “Happy date night.”</p><p>“Thought you were bored.”</p><p>“Hardly,” she kisses him then, smiling sweetly as she leans closer to him. “Just needed to take care of something.”</p><p>“Which was?”</p><p>“Wedding business. Blair is happy with the venue, so I was paying the deposit. I’m glad you like the eye thing.” She almost smirks. “Is that going to be the level of our ‘date night’ talk?”</p><p>“You said take you out, that it was important we maintained the <em>romance</em>.”</p><p>“When did I say that? I didn’t say that.” She is sitting close to him, her chair turned towards his at the tall counter at which they sit, the flurry of activity in the background as chefs create. “It doesn’t sound like me. More likely that you’re paying for some shit with an expensive meal.”</p><p>“It does kinda sound like the bit of you that admits things when she’s hot and wet.”</p><p>She doesn’t blush, a raised eyebrow is all, her fingers sliding over his. “A reoccurring theme over the past two years.”</p><p>“Let it last forever.”</p><p>“I hardly think so,” but she sips her Martini, looks away for a moment because staring too far into the future isn’t easy, the path unclear, but perhaps that’s where the excitement lies. “So, my understanding of date night is that it’s the point of the week where couples ‘catch up’, so, how’s your week been?” She asked, saccharine and sarcasm dripping together.</p><p>He laughs at that. “Like fucking Mr and Mrs Smith.”</p><p>“Play the game or don’t come to the party,” she instructs.</p><p>“You spent Saturday in the office, not me, so how was your day… <em>dear</em>?”</p><p>“Fuck off,” she laughs over her glass. “Busy. But I want to be on top of things before we leave for England, you said no laptop –,”</p><p>“And I stand by that. And don’t say ‘no’ laptop as if it refers to the singular when you and I both know you travel with two. So plural, right, plural, no laptopsss.”</p><p>“You know that’s impossible for me.” She speared the olive in her glass, snapped it in half between her teeth. “Look, my deal is this – with your mother, the castle, no laptops. No work. But when we’re at the ski lodge thing.”</p><p>“More like a palace, but please, do continue with your fake phony bullshit deal.”</p><p>She slapped his leg playfully, “I can work then. You’ll be out doing god knows what, so I can work, if I need to. If not I’ll entertain myself in other ways.”</p><p>“No riding any ski instructors.”</p><p>“Oh but I’m very discreet,” she teased. “But I do need to distract myself from the fact you’re likely trying to kill yourself by throwing your completely fragile body down the side of some sheet of ice.”</p><p>“Maybe not quite so death-defying but I need to talk to you about that, as it goes.”</p><p>She swallowed the last of her Martini, “Whatever idea you’ve got forget it.” She gestured towards a waiter, “Shall we order wine?”</p><p>“Yes, but that’s not it. What I mean is, not the thing, not getting you halfway up a mountain.”</p><p>“I’ve told you I’ll ski, I said I would,” she is distracted by the food being prepared, is watching that as he speaks.</p><p>“I’m just gonna keep talking and hope you tune into the important bits,” he took a long drink of his wine, twisting back round on his stool to face the kitchen area.</p><p>“You do realise I’m going to be roasted by your mother.”</p><p>He allowed the interruption because there was something about it that almost made him preen, “I’m looking forward to the battle. What made you think of that?”</p><p>She lifted one finger from the side of her glass and pointed it towards the flames flaring up intermittently in the kitchen and he laughed at her expression. There was a certain smugness about being centre of attention, at the fact she might have to defend her feelings for him. “You will fight for me, though, won’t you.” He said dramatically and she rolled her eyes at him.</p><p>“Because I seem the type for that?”</p><p>“I hope so, I want to sit back and enjoy the fucking fur flying.”</p><p>“I’m definitely not that type.”</p><p>“More of a silent assassin.”</p><p>“Christ,” she reached for the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. “How am I this age and preparing myself for clashing with my partner’s mother?”</p><p>“The things we do for some dick action, hey.”</p><p>She shook her head at his ridiculousness, but the stresses of the day were already melting away, he had that about him, the ability to shake off any element of seriousness, to melt the stone in her and release the youthful positivity.</p><p>“What did you want to talk about, anyhow, you’ve not neglected to book the hotel, have you?”</p><p>“Always that tone of doubt.” He shuffled uncomfortably, turning his attention back and forth between her face and the chefs preparing their food. The blue of her eyes intense as they read him, always able to dig down and unravel his innermost feelings with the simplest of gazes.</p><p>“Well, I guess I can tell you I spoke to Kendall,” he says, brushing his hand over hers on the table – he’s nervous and he’s unsure as to why. “About potentially changing the CEO role.”</p><p>“Oh?” She is surprised by this, does her best not to appear so, but instead keeps her head down, eyes focussed on where his fingers are stroking over hers. “In what regard?”</p><p>“The three of us, breaking it up more, when anything happens to Dad, maybe seeing it more of a partnership than a dictator at the top.”</p><p>She shifted then, lifted her face so she could read his, flexing her fingers slightly beneath his.</p><p>“He seemed open to the idea,” he continued. “Which is positive.”</p><p>Their conversation from a couple of weeks ago returned and she mentally reminded herself to choose her words carefully, measured, because there was nothing worse than becoming a nag, the death knell to many a relationship.</p><p>“So, I’ll tackle Shiv next.” He continued, partly to fill the gap, her silence uncomfortable.</p><p>She tuned into his words, licked her lips as she listened to his explanation, measuring her response to his carefully put together speech.</p><p>“You okay?” He asked, as if finally registering her expression.</p><p>“I might have liked to know, perhaps,” she said softly. “That’s all.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he nodded, “but I needed to talk to Kendall.”</p><p>“Okay,” she took her hand from beneath his, lifted her freshly filled wine glass and took a long drink.</p><p>“This isn’t a bad thing,” he said, rolling his tongue over in his mouth, “this is something I needed to do. Like I think,” he paused momentarily, because there were things he needed to explain to her that could sting, things that had the potential to cause issues and he didn’t want that – he needed her to know this was something he wanted for the good of them, not to hurt them. “Maybe I should shift to getting my day-to-day legal advice from one of your assistants,” her eyes widened at that, eyebrows rising, “the best one in your opinion, of course. And don’t get upset over that.”</p><p>“Oh no, why would I possibly…”</p><p>“Gerri,” he moved his hand to her wrist, circling it with his fingers, gently rubbing his thumb over her pulse point. “I love you; I want our relationship to be outside of Waystar, do you understand? Not tied up in it. Because ultimately, to me, it’s more important.”</p><p>He left that for a moment, to let his point really rest and settle in her mind. She was always quick enough to grasp ideas, but he’d come to learn – over their long months together – that in the depth of emotional issues she could overlook, misread, mishandle.</p><p>“I think it would be good, healthier, if we separate the two more. I need you to understand that, this isn’t because I want distance from you or because I feel I can handle it all on my own. I can’t. This is purely because I want this to last, for there to be fewer messy ties between us. I look at Dad and increasingly think this is not how I want things to be. And that’s because of you, the good you’ve done me.”</p><p>She wasn’t sure how to react to that, his intentions appeared positive. But she was human and there was a shiver of cold in her chest, that potentially this was him trying to create distance between them.</p><p>“I don’t want to lose you, ever,” he said, leaning into her. “This is just safeguarding us.”</p><p>“Alright,” she said carefully, “I can understand that, what you’re saying, and yes, it makes sense.”</p><p>He took a breath, could taste the wine stuck to his tongue in the dryness of his mouth. “But?”</p><p>“But I can’t help but feel I’ll be on the outside of your life.” She was surprised by how raw she felt by the information, like someone had gutted her, scooped out her innards and it ached.</p><p>“Never,” he shook his head, cutting her off. “I will tell you everything, always. But sometimes I want to tell you as my partner, my girlfriend, not as my legal counsel.” He shrugged.</p><p>She ran a hand through her hair, stretching back as much as she could in the constricting chair, “Anymore revelations tonight?”</p><p>“It’s not meant to be that dramatic,” he said lightly, “I’m not that grown-up.”</p><p>“Aren’t you?” She eyed him then, as he gazed across at her.</p><p>“Ger,” he teased, and she realised it’d been a while since he’d called her that, “you’re the adult one here, you know that.”</p><p>“I feel like I should slap you down for that.”</p><p>He gave her one of his wide-eyed looks, she knew it well now, when he was manipulating her emotions, relying on the fact she cared for him so very much.</p><p>“You want me to admit soft-assed things, like promise you my all, tell you you’re my everything?”</p><p>“Piss off,” she snapped, but she was smiling as she leant into him, lifting her hands to hold his face as she kissed him. His hands rested warmly on her waist and the fear in her chest eased somewhat by his attentions, his words, and yet that slightest hint of doubt that perhaps would always be there remained – the fear one day he’d abandon her. It was silly to dwell on such things, she had no fears of being alone, of dealing with life on her own, but life was so much better with him in it. That was all.</p><p>“I’m still holding onto that ring,” he said and that made her chuckle.</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>“Just saying,” he glanced away, feeling unconsciously shy, “You know, I’ve proposed to two women in my life and both have said no, I might get a complex.”</p><p>“Maybe you’re un-marry-able.”</p><p>“That I’d fucking believe.”</p><p>Their first course arrived and he shifted his focus to the lobster paloise, keenly aware of her eyes on him as she draped her napkin in her lap, there was something pointed and deliberate in the move.</p><p>“This is better than last time we came,” he commented – she hadn’t yet started eating.</p><p>“You know it’s not you.” She finally said before she lifted her cutlery.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s everyone else who’s fucked up.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t say that, we both know you’re screwed.” She smiled at him but he didn’t laugh, just caught her eye and gave a short nod, a half smirk. “You know I’m joking. Rome.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You’re very serious tonight.”</p><p>“I’ll revert to type soon,” he reached for his wine glass, “fucking Coco the Clown over here.”</p><p>“Jolly St. Nick,” she said instead and he felt her free hand slide over his knee beneath the counter, “my favourite dick.”</p><p>He did laugh at that. “In more ways than one, right.”</p><p>“Absolutely. Now, soften the mood, date night, so, let’s flirt.”</p><p>“Alright.” He trapped her hand between his knees. “First date...”</p><p>She smiled coyly, instantly playing along, “Oh, and where did we meet?”</p><p>“Some bullshit dinner party, they were trying to set you up with some older guy, you liked me more.”</p><p>“Who were you there with?”</p><p>He shrugged, “An escort. But I got your number before the end of the night.”</p><p>“Very forward of you.”</p><p>“You had a dirty laugh, mischievous, it made my dick tingle. Besides your hair, all that blonde hair.”</p><p>“Funny, the hair was the only noteworthy thing about you too.”</p><p>“Not my wit and charm?”</p><p>“Hardly.” She pushed her plate aside. “That was delicious.”</p><p>“What is it you do, Gerri?” He asked and he enjoyed her smile, the flash of interest in her eyes at having to think quickly, on her feet.</p><p>“Erm…” she licked her lips, “literary agent.”</p><p>“Nice. So you read a lot?”</p><p>“Every day.”</p><p>“Travel?”</p><p>“When I can. You?”</p><p>“Training to fly.”</p><p>“Wow, they let you loose in a plane?”</p><p>He laughed at that, a Roman laugh, and she noted how he lifted his leg, fighting the urge to tuck one foot under as he would at home.</p><p>“I’m rich.”</p><p>“How rich?”</p><p>“Obscenely rich. I don’t deserve it.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I’m an asshole. My family too. Total shits.”</p><p>“Most obscenely rich people are,” she said, a roll of her eyes as she reached for her wine. “You ever been married?”</p><p>He was going to shake his head then stopped, paused and mulled over his response – it was fun roleplaying with her, imagining a different him. “Twice divorced.”</p><p>“Wow, and so young. Children?”</p><p>“Not my style. You ever walked the aisle?”</p><p>She let her wine swim around her mouth before she responded, “No. Not my style.” Her voice was light but calculated, as clear and precise as ice.</p><p>He smirked, “You fancy having a go at it?”</p><p>She didn’t reply, just held his eyes with hers as she stared at him over the top of her glass, a half-smile on her face,</p><p>Their second course was placed in front of them and he felt bad then for not paying attention to the preparation, it was part of the experience of being there after all.</p><p>“You’re very different,” she said as they started to eat, “I mean if we’re thinking about first dates we never really had one, but I mean compared to the youngster on that yacht, you’re a different man now.”</p><p>“Are we not playing anymore?” He nodded, “Okay. Was about time I grew up though, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Perhaps.”</p><p>He shook his head, “Fuck, remember how clumsy I was then, fucking terrified of touching you.”</p><p>“You were not, the way I recall you were eager hands, probing fingers.”</p><p>“You were lucky, or I was, that I didn’t come in my pants as soon as you let me touch you. Fucking fantasised about you for months, my constant shower companion.”</p><p>“A-ha,” she sounded droll, “You ever miss that? The before bit I mean, it’s where the excitement is after all.”</p><p>“You know what, no. Because I like this more. Don’t take the piss –,” he paused, “–but I like having a home not an apartment, coming back and finding you there, drunk with your friends, feeling festive.”</p><p>She half-smiled at that, because this was as soft as she got in public.</p><p>“Which is quite the surprise,” she said, “because you were always such a selfish little prick. But then again, so was I, most of the time.”</p><p>“I still am,” he said, “and pretty fucking proud of my absolute ability to be a selfish egocentric asshole… current company excepted, of course.”</p><p>“Mm, I don’t think you’d dare be selfish with me.”</p><p>“No, you might leave,” he admitted.</p><p>“You were worried about that from the start, foolishly.” She let her foot touch his. “So, you free to come to a wedding with me? Get drunk, numb the pain of getting older and watching your first born wed?”</p><p>He laughed, “Sure, why not. Do you give a speech?”</p><p>She shrugged, “I guess, never really been comfortable being centre-stage.”</p><p>“More like the power behind the throne, I can see that. I mean, I’ll give the speech if you like, overcome my shyness, take the hit.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, you’re real shy, like a fucking wallflower,” she laughed, glancing down as his leg half wrapped around hers. “Maybe you can help me with it, wring some humour out of me.”</p><p>“You are funny. Well, we laugh, don’t we?”</p><p>“We do.”</p><p>“Did you ever laugh with your girls?”</p><p>“Yes, at times, I suppose… Well, I suppose I wasn’t the most,” she sighed, “it’s complicated.”</p><p>“It always is.” He signalled to a waiter, “Let’s order more wine, get well and truly fried. Kendall never laughs, not even as a kid. Connor laughed too much, hysterical hyena idiot.”</p><p>Her eyes widened amused, “And you didn’t?”</p><p>He stared at her, those wide eyes always too open, revealing too much that he couldn’t control. “Laughter covers stuff.”</p><p>“I had noticed,” her voice was soft, she sat back and let him choose the wine, glanced at her phone to find a text from Blair thanking her for the booking. She replied quickly. “She’s happy with things,” she said, “full steam ahead. Guess when we get back from Europe I should find an outfit.”</p><p>“Is there a colour scheme?”</p><p>“Christ, I didn’t think to ask. I’ll find out.”</p><p>“You’re not that bothered, are you, being a Grandma and all that shit, like you’re not really upset over it?”</p><p>She shrugged again, “I don’t know. Sometimes they seem too far away for it to really matter. Other times I think about the fact I’ll be a Granny, and when you’re young Grans are old women who dress appropriately, bake, have grey hair. Not sitting in restaurants flirting with young men.”</p><p>“I personally don’t get what you’re worried about, I for one am majorly turned on at the thought of getting to fuck a grandma every night. Like, come on, bring that fucking pussy on.”</p><p>She flipped her middle finger at him.</p><p>“Such scandalous behaviour, Geraldine.”</p><p>“Fuck you. I remember being terrified of my Gran.”</p><p>“Me too. I’m still fucking terrified of you.”</p><p>She playfully slapped his arm, “Don’t say that, god, it puts an entirely different spin on things.”</p><p>“Ow, no wonder I’m terrified, physical fucking treatment. Is that what they call tough love?”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“Suck my dick.”</p><p>“Later,” and then she laughed, and leaned into him as she did so, her glasses slipping, the rich scent of her perfume surrounding him. He watched the way her chest shook, the pink flush of her cheeks either from the laughter or the alcohol. A curl of hair had come loose from the clip she wore and he tugged on it, held it between his thumb and forefinger. She was so close to him, in every sense. “Not really, right?” She said lightly; he followed the movement of her lips.</p><p>“Course not.” He brushed his lips over her cheek, “safest with you.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“You think I’d let other women bring me down the way you do at times. Trust, you see, that when it’s over you won’t use it against me at some point. Store it up to use as a weapon.”</p><p>“Maybe I will yet.”</p><p>“At this point, I’m gonna take that fucking chance.”</p><p>She was going to kiss him again, felt compelled to press her tongue into his mouth and claim him, but their next dish arrived so she sat back and turned her body away from his so they could eat.</p><p>“I’ve been looking forward to this one,” he said, switching focus, “the lamb.”</p><p>“This was your favourite last time.”</p><p>“You see, it’s the fact you remember shit like that, that’s what I like. You’ll be a great Granny, remember birthdays, get cool Christmas gifts, send large amounts of money.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, “You think you’ve been good enough for Santa?”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve <em>ever</em> been good enough for Santa, and yet the old bastard still brought presents every year.”</p><p>“Maybe I should punish you instead then, instead of rewards,” her voice was dangerously low, seductive, her eyes dipped down, large and dark and enveloping. “Especially if you’re going to insult an institution like Father Christmas.”</p><p>“You wanna really punish me… dress up as Mrs. Claus, I’d really fucking hate that. Red velvet dress, just that few inches too short…”</p><p>“You really are a perverted piece of filth.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s the stuff. Do it baby.”</p><p>She laughed again, sniggering into her wine glass. “You know, we’ll have to be on best behaviour in England. No sex for a start.”</p><p>“We’re there for a week!”</p><p>“You can last.”</p><p>“In no way on this earth can I last. Why can’t we have sex?”</p><p>“Your mother.”</p><p>“A-ha, yes, and so, with all due respect, what’s the big fucking deal? We had sex in that house, my birthday weekend, and Dad was there?”</p><p>“Yes, but I rather suspect Logan sleeps like the dead – I fear Caroline might hover by doors or bug the room for incriminating evidence.”</p><p>“Well, you’ll just have to control your moans, really, its despicable, the way you go off.”</p><p>“Stop making me laugh,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, “I can’t swallow.”</p><p>“Not usually a problem.”</p><p>She laughed so loudly the couple beside them turned to look and Roman raised his glass in response.</p><p>“You okay?” He sniggered as she touched his hand on the table. “Not wet yourself?”</p><p>“Not yet.” She closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing.</p><p>“You see, this is what date night is for, getting Gerri to loosen up.”</p><p>“You always seem to manage it.”</p><p>“There are some things I wouldn’t trade anything for,” he said, “watching you come undone is still top of my fucking list.” He held her shoulder, kissed her forehead.</p><p>“Mmm, and I’m thankful each and every time you do it. Reminds me I’m human.”</p><p>*</p><p>“The point is,” she half-said, half-slurred, “the point I’m making, is that if I did it, the way you did, you’d be upset.”</p><p>“I would not.”</p><p>“You would,” she insisted, “if I arrived here tonight and revealed I didn’t want to work with you so closely anymore you’d be fucking apoplectic. Or suicidal.”</p><p>“I can take it like a man,” he shook his head, “do the serious shit when needed.” His voice altered slightly the more he thought on it, “Don’t fucking do that. Anyhow. Bring that up now.”</p><p>“I’m just pointing it out –,”</p><p>“Don’t,” he interrupted, cutting her off. He lifted the wine bottle, shook it and realised it was empty. “You wanna order more…”</p><p>“Or?” She pushed her wine glass towards him, let him finish off what was left of hers.</p><p>“Or, I don’t know, go smoke a joint or something, get high.”</p><p>“Because that’s a regular occurrence in our relationship?”</p><p>“Not yet, might be, who knows. Get through awkward moments with it.”</p><p>“Okay,” she leant back in her chair, “so this is an awkward moment now, just like that.” She signalled for a waiter. “You’re in a strange mood now, so, let’s get the cheque.”</p><p>“Hey, I pay right,” he waved his hand at her, “that’s my job, my duty. Traditional date night.”</p><p>“Don’t be an asshole.”</p><p>“That’s my duty too,” he looked up quickly, “cheque please, thanks.”</p><p>“Roman.” She reached for her bag, “I’ll pay if it’s going to become an issue.”</p><p>“No, I owe you right, the Halloween shit, that’s my payback isn’t it, for forcing that night upon you.”</p><p>She pursed her lips, “You don’t need to be rude to me because you’re upset.”</p><p>“Who said I was upset?”</p><p>“I know you.”</p><p>“You know, Tabitha used to claim that too.”</p><p>That surprised her, he hadn’t mentioned her in so long. “Okay. I’m not quite sure what the comparison means, unless this is your way of suggesting we’re reaching endgame.”</p><p>He felt an idiot then, lowered his voice, “No, course not.” He flipped his phone out, “I’ll order the car.”</p><p>“Let’s walk.”</p><p>“Babe, come on, it’s freezing, and you’re in heels.”</p><p>“I want to walk,” she pushed her chair back, lifted his chin with her finger, her nail digging into his skin. “I’ll go to the restroom before we leave.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Would you have married Tabitha?” She asks later when they’re walking, her arm hooked through his, in step with each other, the frost of the air sobering and clearing her brain.</p><p>“Would you have been hurt, if I did?”</p><p>“I didn’t love you then,” she said, “I didn’t know you then. Not in the way I do now.”</p><p>“I guess not,” he squeezed her arm, “I only proposed because it’s what I thought you’re meant to do, to be normal and shit.”</p><p>“To me, or her?”</p><p>“Her, of course.”</p><p>“Then why did you propose to me?”</p><p>“I’m not having that fucking conversation,” he slowed as the sidewalk thinned, waited for a couple to pass them.</p><p>“Why not?” There was amusement in her voice.</p><p>“Because it was bad enough being exposed the first time.”</p><p>She shook her head, looked away from him as she smiled, and they were silent for a while as they walked, the clip of her heels against the ice of the pavement setting a steady rhythm. Heavy crowds were raucous in high spirits; she let the sound of the music and the multitude of clashing lights distract her, pressed up warm and safe against his side, content – there was nothing more she needed.</p><p>“Why won’t you say yes?” He asked, voice uncharacteristically shaky as it cut through the other noise and caught her off guard – he was serious now, boyish jokes and banter replaced by an earnestness that made her shiver inside.</p><p>She licked her lips, pushed on her scarf where it was tight around her throat, “Why do you want me to?” She diverted.</p><p>“Politician’s answer.”</p><p>She smiled at that, exhaled into the frosty air, “My husband died, you sure you wanna risk it, I could be bumping them off for the insurance.”</p><p>“Yeah. Limp-dick plan if that’s the case, you needed to go for another older man not a younger one, there needed to be more of them, and only do a couple of years – shag them to death, aggravated heart failure or some shit. Poor planning, Gerri, to be honest.”</p><p>“You’re watching too many of these real-life crime things.”</p><p>He squeezed her arm with his, his voice sounded somehow deeper when he was serious, it was a side he rarely showed, “Tell me.”</p><p>“Rome,” she breathed deeply again, “there’s no reason for this conversation. I’ve told you before I was never very good at marriage, not a natural wife, not a natural mother…”</p><p>“Yeah,” he interrupted, “but you also told me you’d changed a lot since then. So,” he shrugged. “Don’t be dismissive.”</p><p>“I’m not, I’m being logical –,”</p><p>“Logical!” He overlapped. “Like it might be nice, might it,” he kicked at the leaves frozen on the sidewalk.</p><p>“I already like what we have. It’s no big deal, being married, people make out like it is.”</p><p>“Never done it, never wanted to do it.”</p><p>She laughed at that, “So why you breaking my balls over it now?”</p><p>“Because, different with you.”</p><p>“You sound like you’re sulking, petulant little brat.”</p><p>“Want to call you my wife, okay,” he snapped, “want to be able to say <em>yeah this is my wife, my partner</em>, that’s what I like the idea of. Us being, you know, like united and stuff, against the world. Never understood what people got married for, fucking party and gifts, that’s it. But I’d like it with you, to be <em>Mr Gerri</em>,” he teased, “so everyone knows I belong to you, you own me.”</p><p>She laughed again, the excessive wine and the honesty of his words hitting hard. “I think they already know I own you, and in some quarters that’s not playing out well.”</p><p>“Kinda like that idea.” He said, his voice different, energy dying down the farther they walked and the more exposed his feelings became. “Just having someone on my side, in my corner.”</p><p>She was growing exasperated with him, “I already am.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. But if we’re married it’s like we’ve made that commitment, isn’t it, to always be on each other’s side.”</p><p>She huffed again, “Doesn’t always work that way.” She said plainly. “Besides, people get married to have children, and we won’t be, so really it would offer us nothing beyond a piece of paper and shared names. And I don’t want to change my name.”</p><p>“Then I’ll change mine, I’ll be Kellman.”</p><p>“That’s Baird’s name,” she paused as they stopped to cross. “A Scottish name.”</p><p>“I’ve got Scottish heritage,” he said, “and English too as it goes, mother and all… Anyhow. You’re fussing over insignificant fucking details. Don’t get hung up on the details. Focus on the bigger picture. You and me, husband and wife.”</p><p>She closed her eyes, leant against his arm. Soon they’d be home and she’d make him forget this fruitless conversation.</p><p>“Where’s the joint?” She asked at one point.</p><p>“You actually gonna do it?”</p><p>“You think I’ve never got high?”</p><p>“I think you’re too fucking much of a suit to have ever lost control.”</p><p>“Oh,” she turned in front of him, walking backwards, amused, “I don’t lose control when I’m with you?”</p><p>“Again, that’s different.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Because sex is different.”</p><p>“Are you wimping out on me?”</p><p>“Sure. Yeah. That’s it.”</p><p>She stopped and he almost walked into her, her hands delving into his pockets, “You have it with you?”</p><p>“No, what you think I am, in the fucking restaurant?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she shrugged, her fingers deliberately still moving in his trouser pockets, “perhaps you secretly get high every time you see me, have to do it before you fuck me.”</p><p>“Prick tease,” he said, backing her up into a streetlight. “You make me high. Your body, your skin, your eyes. Don’t need drugs.”</p><p>She moved her hands inside his coat, beneath his jacket and sliding over his back as far as she could reach. “You left my hair out.”</p><p>“One day, just wait, I’m gonna jerk myself silly in your hair.”</p><p>“Pervert.”</p><p>His mouth devoured hers then, kissing her roughly, lifting her up just slightly, arms tight on her body.</p><p>“I fucking love you,” he panted by her ear, “you know that’s the answer to every question.”</p><p>“I know,” she kept her face close to his, making sure he was looking at her, eyes bright in the dark street. “Try not to keep things from me then, hmm.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t like that.”</p><p>“Yeah. I know.” She’d slid her hands to the back of his neck, nails scraping lightly to make a point. “But still, I don’t like being on the outside.”</p><p>“You’re at the centre of everything, as you very well know.”</p><p>“And I want to stay there, not find things out after the fact. Just for a second think of that, Roman, how you’d feel if I’d told Frank something before you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he pressed his chin on her shoulder, breathed her in. His mouth barely touching her skin as he kissed her neck, shoving his nose into her scarf. If he could bury himself in her there he would, just be still and settled within her. His hands slid down her back and squeezed her ass, pressing her against him so she could feel his erection. “Heartless bitch.” He mumbled and heard her hum in pleasure at the contact.</p><p>“Call for the car,” she said sharply, deliberately rolling against him, “if you want to put that inside me.”</p><p>*</p><p>She’s moaning out his name a half-hour later, on her back on the hall floor, arms stretched out above her head, trapped by her blouse which was only pushed up as far as he needed it to be before his mouth claimed her breasts, rolling a nipple between his teeth. She’s worked it to her wrists and left it there because there was something inexplicably sexy about feeling like she was tied up by him. She can’t see his face; the material is over half of her face and she mumbles and gasps at his attentions. His mouth is warm and wet as it slides over her skin, nibbling on the underside of her breast, the wire of her bra digging in her chest where he’s pushed it. She can only focus on the sensations as he touches her, and there’s something wonderful about that, because to reach her age and find some younger man wants to lavish all of his attention on her is pretty fucking amazing.</p><p>There’s a flash of air, a coolness moving over her breasts, nipples tingling and aching from his touch, and she hears him laugh, realises he must be looking up at her because within seconds he is moving the material up over her face and is grinning down at her in a triumphant way.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says and goes to push the blouse completely off of her arms and she opens her mouth, looks up at him and shakes her head and he understands and there’s another kind of triumph in that.</p><p>It’s usually her in the position of power – something he wouldn’t alter – but for this moment the bigger turn on is the fact that she is allowing him to do whatever he likes while she lies there prone and writhing beneath him. He dips his mouth down, licking over her belly, tongue circling and sucking at her skin as if branding her to him. One hand is on her hip half holding her up, but she has pushed her pelvis up towards them and the scent of her arousal is all too evident. It makes his balls ache.</p><p>“Why do you want this?” He breathes against her, mouth pressing into the warmth of the hair between her legs, “Why do you want me?”</p><p>He doesn’t expect a response, is surprised when seconds later she breathes out, “Because you make me feel like this.”</p><p>There is a certain kind of completeness in that.</p><p>She’s so hot against his face, so wet when he presses his tongue to her, inside – once, twice, then back to suckle on her. That almost giddy half-moan of pleasure from the back of her throat, the way she arches up to him seeking more. One leg thrown over his shoulder, and he’s hungrier for her than he’s ever been for anything. Can never get enough.</p><p>When she comes the first time – bucking up against him so hard it almost knocks him backwards – her throat is tight, dry almost as she exhales and sucks in air simultaneously. But before she can come down completely he is shifting her body, limp and pliable in his hands, she lets him turn her, realises how she is lying there completely naked on her stomach with her arms stretched out before her, wrists almost bound together by her own blouse.</p><p>She can hear him unzipping his trousers, the sweep of his shirt being unbuttoned and thrown aside. His slight, lithe body pressing full length against hers, mouth in her hair as he nuzzles her. She twists her head to one side, and his fingers reach up to her mouth – she runs her tongue along two of them before sucking them inside. The slick heat of her cheeks closing around him, her tongue coiling and wrapping around them, the sensation of it makes his dick throb in anticipation of repeating the movement elsewhere.</p><p>“You’re the best taste in the world,” he said, mouth on her shoulder, the back of her neck, back and forth as he takes in every inch of her. Covers her being in kisses.</p><p>“Keep fucking me,” she demanded. “Never stop.”</p><p>That’s what he enjoys, the moments when she loses control of the usual measured and stoic demeanour and reveals her innermost feelings – that she wants him here forever, bound together, and perhaps he doesn’t need a ring on her finger or to share a last name to make that commitment.</p><p>His knee works between her legs parting her thighs, but it took little effort, she is eager for this too. His hands move to cover the back of hers as he pushes up inside her, grunts at the feel of her.</p><p>“Utter perfection,” he whispers by her ear, and somehow she is squeezing him, holding him inside her and massaging and with each thrust moving deeper inside her he thinks he never wants to be be anywhere else, to never do this with anybody else. Just her, forever, that's all. Simple.</p><p>*</p><p>“Fuck,” she says as she comes into the lounge, a robe on but pulled aside as she looks at her knees. “That floor was not a good choice, I’m bruised.”</p><p>“Hazardous, they should put that on the label.”</p><p>She glances to his amused expression from where he lounges at one end of the couch, still naked, still glowing and preening like a lion who just shagged his way through the pride.</p><p>“Idiot, did you pour drinks?”</p><p>He kicks his leg out, points with his toe to where her glass sits.</p><p>“There’s a party next Thursday, some club,” he mentions nonchalantly, “will you come?”</p><p>“Is it suitable for my age bracket?”</p><p>“It’s not a porn party, no worse than any Waystar shitshow we’ve attended, only some guys who I occasionally refer to as ‘friends’ are there. I’d like to show my face. Like to have yours next to me as I do.”</p><p>“Charmer, considering how good you just made me feel I’ll say yes. But send me details, I hate not knowing things, as you very well know.” She said pointedly, lifting her glass and taking a long drink.</p><p>She’s rounding the end of the couch when he jumps up, walking along it until he reaches her.</p><p>“Hey,” she chastises but he’s pressing his hands to her shoulders. “Can you ever behave like a normal human being and not a child?”</p><p>“Never. Even with all your training.”</p><p>“Hmm,” she can’t help but feel amused by him, standing there butt naked and proud of it. “Get down,” she snaps playfully, slapping at his backside, catching his arm as he deliberately ignores her and bounds from one couch to the other.</p><p>“Christ, you’re exhausting. I’m going to bed. And you better be following me.”</p><p>He’s quieter in the dark, lays at an angle with his head on her stomach enjoying the comfort of her fingers stroking through his hair.</p><p>“So I ordered gifts for your mother,” she says, “you didn’t say you’d got anything.”</p><p>“I haven’t. Not yet.”</p><p>“We leave in two weeks, bit last minute. Am I the same?”</p><p>“You’re the only one I’m prepared for.”</p><p>“Well, I appreciate that. And if I’ve ordered the wrong thing just say, it won’t upset me, I didn’t want to cross the line but I figured that I should make an effort seeing as I’ll be staying there too.”</p><p>“No, no I appreciate it. Kind of nice, like, taking gifts together. Doesn’t it make us sound quaint, right pair of dickwads.”</p><p>“That term can easily be applied to you, yes.”</p><p>“What are you thinking about it all?”</p><p>“Who’ll be my ally,” she said, “I’m thinking I can probably rely on Rava, and if things get really bad hide with Tom who’s bound to be easy prey for her.”</p><p>He laughed at that, the wonderful mercurial nature she had that kept him on his toes. “Weird right, you knowing her so well for all these years and now…”</p><p>“Yes. Very odd.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on, move, I need to pee.”</p><p>“Oh but I was comfy,” he rolled over, pressed his mouth to her stomach.</p><p>“That’s not helping.”</p><p>He moved up the bed, kissing her body as he went, burying his face into her neck, “Baby,” he whispered, “have I told you how happy I am?”</p><p>“You’re drunk,” she said, but there was the tug of a smile to her tone, a softening around her heart with him.</p><p>“Remember this time last year, just coming back from holiday and finding our way and me fucking it all up?”</p><p>“I faintly recall all of that yes.” Truth was she couldn’t believe it had been a year – and they were still together, it was still working.</p><p>“I’m looking forward to New Year this time.” He said, a flashback to spending the previous one on his own out on his father’s balcony, freezing his balls off as he consumed a bottle of whisky. “Being alone with you. Fucking you repeatedly.”</p><p>“The romance,” she pushed on his shoulders, “I really need to pee, come on, move.”</p><p>He flopped beside her, groaning into the pillow. When she returned, slipping in beside him, he was already asleep, snoring faintly, but he still curled up behind her when she lay on her side, his arm over her waist. She could hardly remember sleeping alone now, and she missed his presence when he was away on business. How quickly they had made this a home and not just a place he lived.</p><p>She reached for her phone as he slept behind her, tapped out a quick message to Blair, “What’s the colour scheme?” she fell asleep thinking about her daughter’s upcoming wedding and the nature and rhythm of marriage.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christmas - part one</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roman is hung over during the flight to London. It makes them late, because he’s slow to get ready, and they are second-to-last to take their seats on the plane. He in dark glasses and hunched over in a sulk as he follows her up the steps – and yet she isn’t pissed off.</p><p>She wonders if the impromptu night out drinking with friends was an attempt to numb the realities of spending the best part of a week with his mother, but she keeps these thoughts to herself. Takes care of him instead.</p><p>He’d woken her when he rolled in after three banging about in the hall as he tried to remove his shoes and she had gone to help, half carried him to bed, undressed him and fetched water and listened to him babble before he fell to sleep pressed against her shoulder.</p><p>He slept until lunch, she passed the time working, closing up anything she could before the fortnight away. The last time she can remember being away from work – and New York – for so long is when they took their holiday. She hopes this break will be just as wonderful but somehow doubts it; less sunshine, less time to be naked.</p><p>She is polite as they board; says hello to Kendall, makes small talk with Rava. The children are already entertained by their iPads, though just the sound of their games makes Roman grimace and he retreats to the wraparound sofa by the window. She gets strong coffee, thrusts it into his hand, there are doughnuts and croissants too and she takes one of each and sets them on a plate in front of him. He hasn’t eaten all day and she’s not sure if she’s annoyed with him or not over his ignorance towards the others. She understands it, perhaps that is what makes it bearable.</p><p>When Shiv and Tom finally board it is clear something has happened between them; it seems a regular occurrence now, their arguments, and Gerri wonders for how much longer they will be able to hold onto this pretence of a marriage. Occasionally she feels sorry for Tom – he has always been completely out of his depth in this family. And although he frustrates her no end, he isn’t a bad person, not really, he isn’t like the rest of them, perhaps it would be better for him if he was out of this after all.</p><p>She settles herself close to the window, orders a whisky, and twenty minutes in it seems acceptable to start on the book she brought with her. The children are settled and entertained by a movie, Shiv is on her phone, the others chatting. Gerri had just about settled back when Roman shifts his position on the sofa, kicks off his shoes like a petulant child and crawls down towards her; she hardly even flinches, lifts her hands as he plonks his head in her lap, face pressed into her stomach and settles to sleep. It is a usual position for them now on the couch at night, though perhaps still something of a surprise for his siblings – to have Gerri on a family flight, not unusual, to have Roman sleeping on her for comfort, somewhat odd.</p><p>Shiv seems to watch them over her phone for the longest time, Gerri catches her from the corner of her eye as she lifts her hand from Roman’s hair to turn the page of her book, gives her a half smile, something reassuring and yet sad, because she knows how it feels to be only half in a marriage, not fully content, yet too deep into it to turn away.</p><p>She is glad all over again for how settled she is now – yes, deep into this, but gloriously so because there is nowhere else she’d rather be. And there remains something reassuring, something that brings utter contentment, to know there is nowhere he’d rather be neither.</p><p>They’ve been in the air two hours before he wakes, he seems more alert, eats both of the pastries she left on the table and follows them with two coffees in quick succession. And then he’s back in Roman mode, fussing with the children, exciting them as he teases them about the fact Father Christmas will struggle to find them tucked away in the castle. Despite his awkwardness with them for so long, he is a natural with children, because at heart he is still one himself. She’s never known anyone more in touch with their inner brat!</p><p>She’s the one to doze later, can’t recall it happening, but wakes when Roman is tickling her neck, realises she is pressed against a cushion, legs curled beneath her, and is embarrassed about that fact. But he seems amused, teases her about this being the first time she’s shown anyone else she’s human and kisses her for good measure. They are an hour out; she hides in the bathroom and makes herself look presentable again.</p><p>From plane to helicopter – a mode of transport she detests – but it’s so much snappier than trying to drive and it’s clear the kids are getting frustrated, as kids often do after a day spent travelling and besides it’s the early hours of the morning by the time they land. Only a few servants to greet them, she is not surprised that Caroline hasn’t made the effort, there are sandwiches in the diner just off the kitchen at the back of the house and they make a show of sitting and eating, though the adults are more interested in the wine and the children need to bathe and go to bed so that at least get some sense of UK time.</p><p>When it’s polite to do so they excuse themselves, Roman always has the same room when he stays and this time it’s no different despite the fact that Gerri is with him; she had wondered if she might be housed in a separate room, a little joke on Caroline’s behalf perhaps, but no, they are together.</p><p>“Christ that’s what I like to see, your ass in the air as I enter a room.” He said into the semi-darkness as she clambered across the bed.</p><p>“I’m trying to turn the lamp on, and god it’s so creaky.”</p><p>“The lamp?”</p><p>The light flickered on, illuminating her face as she flopped back onto the bed and tucked her legs beneath her. “The bed, listen every time I move. You think your mother gave us this one on purpose?”</p><p>He frowned, pulling his sweater off and throwing it onto a chair. “Because?”</p><p>“To stop us having sex.”</p><p>“Fuck that! We’re stuck here five days.”</p><p>“Well exactly, and who wants to think of their son fucking about with some decrepit old woman? So, what better way to put us off than an equally decrepit creaky old bed.”</p><p>“Only you don’t creak.” He teased as he knelt on the bed beside her. “Yet.”</p><p>“Fuck off.” She snapped, but smirked at his laughter.</p><p>He jumped onto the bed beside her, flopping on his stomach, hands folded beneath his chin as he watched her get comfortable against her pillows. “There’s no way we can sleep here for five days and me not pounce on you at some point. You’re my drug, I need you at regular intervals otherwise I get tetchy.” He said this all the while with his fingers drumming against her stomach as he stared at her. “Anyhow, this is my room, I always have this one.”</p><p>“You’re telling me every woman you’ve brought here has been in this creaky old bed too?”</p><p>“Jealous?”</p><p>“Hardly. More amused.”</p><p>“Difference is, I never fucked them in it.”</p><p>“Lucky me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he yawns, dropping his head to her stomach and closing his eyes. “Not so painful, was it, being part of the family flight?”</p><p>“No, not so painful.” She toyed with his hair, “You can’t fall to sleep there.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I want to shower, after the long flight.”</p><p>He propped his head up again, dark eyes holding her in them – she’d always enjoyed the fact he didn’t look away from her, would stare her out even when unsure of what he was saying or nervous as to her response. She raised her eyebrow at his expression, shook her head.</p><p>He follows her into the adjoining bathroom like a lovestruck teen, perches by the sink as she undresses and steps into the shower, and watches. Because sometimes it’s all about watching. The way her back curves down into the round plumpness of her backside, the slide and slip of the water travelling through her hair and along her spine. The familiar fragrance of her shampoo that makes his palms itch. He’s always been unable to stop himself touching and age has not stunted his tendencies.</p><p>She is unsurprised by the fact he appears behind her, gives only a whisper of a smile, eyes closed as she faces the thrust of the water. He takes hold of both of her hands and presses them flat against the tiles, pressing against her bottom, breathing her in before his mouth even touches the back of her neck. He can be still at times, take a moment and enjoy it, savour it, because for years he would come here alone and go to bed alone and feel absolutely, entirely alone in the world.</p><p>“In here, no-one can hear you scream,” he whispers by her ear until she’s laughing and that is a triumph to him, making her laugh, even more so than making her come.</p><p>She tilts her head back, wet hair in his face, and he realises that she moves purposefully, grinding back into him, his hands slipping down from where they were pressed against hers and instead grasping at her breasts, like silk in his palms.</p><p>“I love your creaky old body,” he teases again, and that earns him a swift elbow in his ribs before she turns, pressing her mouth forcefully against his, biting on his bottom lip sharply before sucking it until he moans.</p><p>“Insolent little pervert.”</p><p>Nodding in agreement, he presses her back again, watches as she stretches beneath the water, one hand on his chest keeping him just far enough away to make him suffer. "You like me this way."</p><p>“Sadly, I do. Life might be easier if I didn’t.”</p><p>“But dull.”</p><p>“Very true,” she opened her eyes slowly. “This shower is rather limp compared to the engineering wonder you have.”</p><p>“Oh,” his eyes widened, “you like my shower?”</p><p>“It has its perks, yes.”</p><p>His erection is nudging at her thighs, insistent and full of longing as he strokes her body.</p><p>“We can’t do this in here.” She insists, but when she’s pressed up against the tiles and he’s taking her from behind she is reminded that even she can be wrong sometimes.</p><p>*</p><p>When Roman trips down the stairs the following morning he finds Gerri already seated at the breakfast table across from his mother, there’s salmon and scrambled eggs on her plate and she gives him a half-smile over his mother’s head, eyes wide, one eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Good morning lovely family,” he is holding Gerri’s gaze as he bends to place a kiss to Caroline’s cheek. “Hi mom.”</p><p>Caroline turns slightly, lifts a hand to brush his face, “Roe Roe, we thought you’d never join us.”</p><p>“Takes time, you know, polishing this,” he slides along the buffet table, dumping pastries onto his plate, moving to the empty seat beside Gerri’s. She ignores him as he brushes her leg beneath the table, continues her perfectly amiable chat with Caroline, but then her foot repeatedly bats against his in a playful manner and he knows she’s on his side.</p><p>“So, plans today,” his mother announces when they’ve finished eating. “There’s a dinner tonight, just a few friends.”</p><p>“Er, a few friends as in like ten around the table or a few friends as in the ballroom is fucking open for business?” Shiv asks. “Because you know in the past mom…”</p><p>“There will be dancing in the ballroom, yes,” Caroline says, “so dress appropriately, and Roman, no antics.”</p><p>“Er, thanks mom, I mean –,”</p><p>“Well, you’ve got your…” she waved her hand across the table towards Gerri, “…I’m not sure what to call you now.”</p><p>“Girlfriend, mom, call her girlfriend.” Roman said.</p><p>“Or just Gerri, still, I mean that might be an idea,” Gerri shrugged, folding her napkin on the table, feeling Roman grin beside her.</p><p>Caroline smirked, “It’s a bit like we’re here for business, isn’t it, you being here, keep expecting to be side-lined over shares or the like. Whatever happened to that other girl who was at the wedding, the tall one, thought you were going to marry her?”</p><p>“Fucks sake, mom,” Roman groaned, banging his forehead down onto the table.</p><p>“Well, you never tell me anything.”</p><p>“It’s been over a year, mom, this, us,” he mumbled against his arm before sitting up. “Almost two. Tabitha and I are just friends now.”</p><p>“Alright, sorry,” she made a show of shaking her head, “you still talk, then, with the other?”</p><p>Gerri folded her hands beneath her chin, turning her face to regard him as he slumped forward.</p><p>“At times,” he said, “as a friend.”</p><p>“Ah. That’s good. To stay friends. She seemed nice.”</p><p>“Mom, really, come on,” Kendall interjected, “Gerri is right here.”</p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p>“Meaning it’s kinda fucking uncomfortable you quizzing him on an ex.”</p><p>Rava had already ushered the children off to change for the outdoors, and he was doing his best to avoid the early morning Champagne being poured. “Just, move on, okay.”</p><p>“My, on your little brother’s side now are we, Kenny?”</p><p>“I don’t need anyone on my side,” Roman overlapped.</p><p>“I just think you could cut him some slack on this.”</p><p>She pressed a hand to her chest, “I haven’t said anything, I like Gerri, I’ve always liked Gerri, known her a very long time. Since you were kids.” She shrugged, sipping her Champagne.</p><p>“And what time is dinner?” Shiv interrupted, trying to steer the conversation on, “Because I might make use of the helicopter, nip into London for some shopping.”</p><p>“Yes, plan,” Roman clapped his hands together, “We’ll join you.”</p><p>“Not got all your gifts?” Caroline smiled at him, “Seven, events will kick off, be polished for that will you. I’m sure Gerri can get you there on time.” She waggled her wine glass in the air, “Beautiful bracelet by the way, Gerri.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she smiled serenely, “it was a gift.”</p><p>“I’m sure it was. Glittering like a bauble.”</p><p>*</p><p>Late lunch and they’re feeding each other oysters at Kaspar’s at the Savoy – she will forever be impressed (though never shows it) when he gets a prime table at short notice and it’s good to forget about his mother and the rest of his family for a few hours. He is different then, back to the Roman she had grown so used to, though maybe she is different too, more at ease, less ready for battle.</p><p>“Is it ridiculous that I feel bad for Dad?” He asks as they sip festive cocktails. He shrugs as she glances sharply at him over her glass, “Just on his own, you know."</p><p>“Marcia?” She suggests.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but it’s been odd there hasn’t it, odd with all of us I guess.” He touched her hand, played with it as he often did now, turning it over, absently stroking between each finger. “Just yeah, he’s getting older, you know, and to be estranged in some ways from your wife,” he shrugged, “it must be hard, that’s all I’m saying. Like, feel a real gimp saying this, but to be estranged from you now, well, that’d be really hard.”</p><p>“Oh?” She swirled the alcohol around her tongue, “In what way?”</p><p>“You know in what way.”</p><p>“I’m a woman of specifics.”</p><p>He shook his head, “You know you fucking own me by now, that’s no surprise. But I like sharing things with you, you know when I’m away or when it’s been a shit day, I like the fact I get to come home to you, simple as that. I feel sorry for dad, because I’m not sure he’s ever had that, maybe Marcia was the closest he’s got, and that’s only just holding on.”</p><p>She let that rest, watched him gaze out of the window at the busy streets, the noise and bustle of the restaurant around them. This close to Christmas and everywhere was crowded with life. In another room somebody was playing a piano and she tuned into that as she waited for him to refocus, her fingertips just touching his on the table.</p><p>“I feel like a traitor, being here.” He said as he toyed with the ring on her finger, inching it down to her knuckle and then rubbing the skin where it had previously sat with his nail before pushing the ring back again.</p><p>“You were part of a deal, remember, you shirked nothing.” She swirled the deep-red liquid around in her glass. “You shouldn’t feel bad about anything, your father will be fine, he always is. I love the man, you know that, but he does always manage to land on his feet, weapon drawn. Though perhaps,” she started to tease, to lighten the mood, “I should be the one who feels bad, this friendship with Tabitha…?”</p><p>He chuckled at that, “Don’t give me that fucking look, as if you’re jealous.”</p><p>“I could be.”</p><p>“There’s never a reason to be, I never even managed to fuck her, you, on the other hand…”</p><p>She tucked her hair behind her ear at that, a smugness playing across her mouth.</p><p>“Sorry though, for the breakfast jibes.” He offered.</p><p>“Christ, don’t apologise, that was fairly easy sailing so far. She’s going to have to hit us with something much stronger.” She leant in and kissed him. “You wanna wander and look at the lights now it’s turning dark, before we meet Shiv for the helicopter back?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>She’s thinking of that lunch as she listens to some accountant originally from Llanelli filling her in on how he ended up knowing Caroline, only she’s struggling slightly with the accent and tunes out every other minute and instead thinks about giggling with Roman over something ridiculous or feeling his hand on her arm as he tipped an oyster into her mouth. The way his kisses tasted as they had stood outside Cartier, the building all wrapped up in a giant red bow, and he’d promised to buy her the contents of the window display if she’d kiss him publicly in the street. She did. Without the need for gifts.</p><p>She is smiling at this and the man leans in closer to her, clearly misreading the look. She makes her excuses pretty quickly after that, drifts to another part of the room.</p><p>There’s less than a hundred people gathered for the ‘dinner’ that night, though not much less, and soon Gerri finds herself huddled in a group of aging men chatting over the finer points of difference between US and UK law. She doesn’t mind, it’s not often she gets such discussions regularly and it’s good to stretch her brain.</p><p>She chose a deep green dress decked with emeralds and diamonds around her throat, because if you can’t sparkle at Christmas then when can you. And she’s delighted when she spots Sophie and Iverson skipping across the foyer floor and lifts her hand to wave at them, surprising herself by how genuinely glad she is to see them and excuse herself from the stoic conversation and soak up their energy instead.</p><p>“Gerri, there’s horses here, did you know that?” Iverson gasps.</p><p>“I did yes, we ought to ride out one day, don’t you think.” She turned away from the group of gnarled old men and instead focussed on the children. “Don’t you two look smart.”</p><p>“Just like Dad’s,” the boy replied proudly, showing off his suit. Gerri had noticed how closely he stuck to his sister at things like this, but he was immeasurably better without Logan’s presence.</p><p>“Your dress looks gorgeous,” Sophie said, twirling in hers.</p><p>“My, how ‘gorgeous’ yours is too. You’re joining us for dinner?”</p><p>“Mum says no, but we can come to the party before bed.”</p><p>“We’re present hunting,” Iverson said bouncing about.</p><p>“Well, that seems a noble pastime. Has your uncle given you any clues?”</p><p>Whatever the boy was about to reply with stopped abruptly when Caroline approached, resting a hand on each child’s shoulder, red fingernails tapping. “I hadn’t realised you had charmed every member of my family,” she said, a broad smile on her face as her eyes flicked between Gerri’s face and the bustling room around them.</p><p>“We’re growing ever more acquainted,” Gerri realised her wine glass was empty, and she sensed this was really not the moment to be without alcohol.</p><p>“Run along the two of you, we need a moment.” Caroline instructed, and the children needed very little incentive to escape her gaze.</p><p>Gerri thought of her daughter for a moment, of the wedding to come, the baby on its way.</p><p>They stood side-by-side by the fireplace, to anyone watching they were engaged in a perfectly friendly chat – two women who had known each other a lifetime, who had summered together, spent New Year together, and now were moving into an entirely different kind of relationship.</p><p>“Shiv tells me you’re going to become a Grandmother.”</p><p>“Yes, April.”</p><p>“And how does he feel about that?”</p><p>“Roman? I’m not sure he ‘feels’ anything about it.”</p><p>Caroline nodded, the slightest hint of a smile on her face, “I’m sure. Interesting though, all of this, must be very interesting when he introduces you to his friends.”</p><p>“We’ve managed so far.”</p><p>“That is something, actually, it’s lasted longer than I thought it might. After last Christmas I thought maybe, well, some things are too valuable, clearly.” She took a long drink, the heavy red wine thick and glistening.</p><p>“It’s smart,” Caroline said softly, not looking at Gerri but surveying the room, she had that style, that snake-like way of being able to sneak in and leave a trail of poison without effort. “Stinks of insincerity, but smart way to play the game, I’ll give you that.”</p><p>Gerri looked down, licked her lips as she smiled, “Who says it’s a game?”</p><p>“Oh, come on, it’s all a game in this world you inhabit, manoeuvres, virtual chess board. I wouldn’t have backed Roman, were it me, but maybe you know more than I do.”</p><p>She hardened at that, not at the fact she was being accused of using him for power positions, that was nothing new, but because Caroline – like every other member of his family – saw him as little more than a clown boy playing around in big boy suits.</p><p>“He’s actually,” she started, shook her head as she looked to Caroline’s amused face.</p><p>“What is he? Do enlighten me.”</p><p>“More than you think.”</p><p>“Well, if he helps you get where you need to be all power to you. I mean, you did it once before, didn’t you, snaggled the man for the position. I’m rather impressed you’ve still got the moves enough to manage it at your age.”</p><p>Gerri laughed at that, a short sharp sound that caught in her throat, because the suggestion rang hollow on either part.</p><p>“Far be it for me to draw any kind of conclusions,” Caroline added, “I mean, who am I to make judgements, live and let live, yes. But it is rather odd, I will say that, and the two of you together,” the intonation in her voice rose just slightly indicating amusement mixed with annoyance, “well, you do look rather fascinating.”</p><p>“Fascinating?” Despite the awkwardness of the entire thing there was something about it that amused her; she enjoyed coming up against opponents, but she enjoyed winning more, and it was very rare that she failed to do so. “I will admit a few things – it’s lasted longer than I thought it might; I care for him more than I ever thought I would and, whether you want to hear it or not, I certainly don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.”</p><p>“Hmm, how intriguing,” Caroline turned, smiling enigmatically as she is slowly backed away. She tipped her glass towards her, “Fun to watch.”</p><p>Gerri headed to the bar after that, downed a Gin straight before ordering a martini – a strong martini. She was leaning against the bar sipping that when she felt Roman standing behind her, an instantly recognisable sensation these days.</p><p>“Hi gorgeous,” he breathed by her ear, one hand resting on her hip. “You’re pretty damn hot, you know that.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, do I know you?” She eased out the words as if she could hardly be bothered, flipping over the coaster on the bar.</p><p>“Wanna get to know me better in the cloakroom?” He teased, pressing into her bottom.</p><p>She giggled at that, turning her face to his.</p><p>He rested his chin on her shoulder, “Saw you being probed.”</p><p>“Mm, apparently we look odd together.”</p><p>“Of course – you’re too hot for me. And too smart. And too…”</p><p>“Old?”</p><p>“Hardly. I was going for ‘too classy’.”</p><p>“All of which are true,” she sighed heavily, turning a little more, her body pushing into his, “but still, I like to indulge you because apparently this will bring me power.”</p><p>“It has.” He kissed her, his hand on her back, a statement being made. “Fuck anyone who doubts the truth of this.” He briefly rested his forehead against hers, “Realest thing in my life.”</p><p>She felt buoyed by that, “How’s it going for you?”</p><p>“Alright, pretending to be a grown up with the other grown-ups in the room. Blend in.”</p><p>“I like it better when you don’t,” she kissed him again, “sit with me at dinner?”</p><p>*</p><p>Roman shifts the old bloke who has seated himself next to Gerri at the long dining table, swaps over so he is next to his mother across the table from them. She doesn’t need protection, but there’s strength in numbers and he feels he’ll probably need that more than her if things heat up.</p><p>“Brains and beauty,” the old man is saying and Roman only half tunes into this, until he realises the points are being directed towards the woman sitting next to him. The first course has already been served and she is slicing into her pigeon, directing a guarded smile across the table.</p><p>“Roman,” she says, touching his arm when he finally settles, “this is Mr Davies, Jeremy, it seems we’ve ended up chatting most of the evening.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes at that, shoots her a sharp grin before reaching across to shake his hand.</p><p>“I knew you as a child,” the man says, but Roman can’t remember him, but then he dismisses anyone from memory who is of little use. “Good to be back?”</p><p>“Oh yes, I always enjoy a history lesson.” He beckoned someone to refill his wine glass – he planned to get very drunk, it was undoubtedly the best way to get through most of these nights. At least he had her beside him; he can still remember being alone the year before and feeling like he’d made the greatest mistake of his life. Shards of ice in his chest at the memory of a feeling of being alone. Absolutely alone.</p><p>“And you know Gerri?” The man asks.</p><p>He laughs at that, in between a mouthful of salad leaves and beetroot chutney, “Just about.”</p><p>“They’re together, Jez,” Caroline leans in to tell him, “these two,” she waves her knife at them.</p><p>The old man splutters, “Well, I never.” He smothers his awkwardness with a half-laugh, “Good for you, my lad. Albert, did you know this?” He prods the arm of the man beside him.</p><p>Albert is about ninety and half-deaf, he jerks his ancient head up to stare across the table, “What is it?”</p><p>“This lady?”</p><p>“The blonde?” He stares directly at Gerri, watery eyes taking in her appearance. “Damn fine looking woman.”</p><p>Roman laughs at that, crossing his arms over his chest, “I think they’re going to bid on you.”</p><p>“With Roman,” Jeremy says loudly and Albert’s eyes widen appreciatively.</p><p>“Good. ‘Bout time he got taught a few things, always seemed so damned clueless when it came to women.”</p><p>It is Gerri who laughs at that, and he thinks he’ll make her pay later for the look she gives him over the top of her wineglass, eyes sparkling.</p><p>“Oh but he’s a quick learner,” she says, and he thinks she must already be drunk because she so rarely makes jokes like this in public, is always so well behaved and polished.</p><p>The exchange relaxes him and he settles into the chatter going on around him. They almost make it through the entire meal without incident, but when the drop comes it’s done so exquisitely well that he’s not in the least prepared. His mother is an expert at it.</p><p>Caroline squints at first, as if she’s building up to something, which she is of course because she never does anything spontaneously, which is what really hurts Roman later when he thinks back on it, that she actually thought up this topic and waited for the right moment to play her hand.</p><p>“Do you play dead, then?” The question juts out like an ill-timed elbow in the ribs.</p><p>“Err…” He is caught off-guard, floundering at the question and where it might lead and how she knows.</p><p>The question is aimed at Gerri though, who replies softly, “Excuse me?” She is genuinely confused.</p><p>“Playing dead, that’s what he likes, isn’t it Roman, or have I misunderstood? Didn’t think it’d be your thing though, Gerri,” she takes a spoon of sorbet, deliberately eats it painstakingly slowly. “Surprised by that.”</p><p>If Gerri is intrigued by the question she makes no sign of it, sets about finishing her dessert. But beside her Roman is jittery, his foot tapping, she can feel his knee jiggling beside her leg.</p><p>“First time I knew was when you were seventeen and that girl you were dating, Sara was it?”</p><p>“Mom,” Roman starts.</p><p>“I mean, the dog cage was bad enough…” it’s unclear who she is talking to, anyone who will listen perhaps, but there’s too much context needed to fully understand and most of the casual listeners are too drunk to work things out. But Roman knows. Roman understands. And Gerri has pretty much pieced things together.</p><p>“Her mother called me up –,”</p><p>“For Chrissake mom,” Roman’s voice is harder than it usually is, and she looks up sharply at him then, “enough. Okay. Please.”</p><p>Caroline seems to think it over for a moment, but then she shrugs, gives up and the chatter moves onwards.</p><p>But Roman flounders. It’s still a bitter pill to take, your mother deliberately hurting you.</p><p>*</p><p>Gerri is already in bed when he comes out of the bathroom, pulling pins from her hair and letting it down one strand at a time. He stands for a moment by the bed watching as each piece curls against her neck.</p><p>“Are you getting in or sleeping standing up?”</p><p>“Not put off?”</p><p>She inclines her head, “By?”</p><p>He shrugs then, looks like a boy again as he avoids her gaze.</p><p>She moves her hand, drops the pins in a neat pile on the bedside table, “Get in because it’s cold, your mother certainlyis a tight-fisted old sod with the heating in this place.”</p><p>He thinks she means more than the fact it’s physically cold and pulls back the duvet; her legs are bare beneath the sheets but she is in a silk pyjama top and smells like vanilla and salted caramel coiled into one.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Ashamed.”</p><p>She lifts her hands, pats her lap, “You know I don’t care.”</p><p>He crawls to her, rests his head in the spot she indicated and closes his eyes; her fingers are in his hair and he instantly relaxes, like settling into a cushion of acceptance and understanding.</p><p>“One of the wonderful things about all of this is lack of judgement on either of our parts, as I believe we’ve discussed before. Whatever you’ve done before, I don’t care, I care only for how you treat me, and I have no complaints over that.”</p><p>“It never gets old,” he says after minutes of silence. “How she is.”</p><p>“The ones we’re closest to will always hurt us the most, because they have the tools to do so.”</p><p>“Yeah. Repeatedly.”</p><p>“It doesn’t make you any less; the fact you sat there calmly potentially made you more.”</p><p>He turns his head just enough so his mouth can reach her fingers, enjoys the sensation of her fingertips on his lips.</p><p>The light goes off and he realises she’s lying down and so he moves again, her breasts beneath his cheek, settled and content now.</p><p>“I think maybe we should take a walk tomorrow,” she whispers into the dark. “Didn’t you say the woods are extensive?”</p><p>“A-ha, it’s frosty though, snow on the ground.”</p><p>“I can cope. Maybe we drive some of the way, borrow one of the Land Rovers, then take a walk… useful, don’t you think?”</p><p>It takes a minute for it to trigger but then he smiles at her suggestion, gives a slight nod of his head.</p><p>“Then that pub for lunch, in the village, see what they made of your money.”</p><p>He can’t remember falling to sleep, only that he is happy.</p><p>*</p><p>It surprises him that she can drive, he often forgets things like that about her because they spend their entire existence being chauffeured around, time manicured down to suit their every need and whim.</p><p>She’s rusty and the terrain is uneven though, and his stomach is unsettled by the time she decides they’ve travelled far enough and can park. He is glad of the frosty air, the crunch of the ground underfoot and the heat of the whisky in the flask she’s got in her pocket as it hits his stomach. Her arm is tight around his and they walk in sync, to the edge of the woods at one point, looking down the valley to the building nestled there.</p><p>“You think this place will always be special now?” He says, his breath curling in the air before them.</p><p>“As the place you weakened and confessed undying love for me?”</p><p>“Clearly, that’s exactly what happened.”</p><p>“It’s how the history books will remember it. That time you emotionally blackmailed me into being with you.”</p><p>“Bitch.”</p><p>She laughed evilly at that, leaning into his body, the fragrance of her expensive perfume at odds with the dampness of the wax jacket and wellington boots she’s borrowed from the house.</p><p>“I try so very hard to live up to your mother's expectations,” she said, standing on her toes and kissing him repeatedly in quick, sharp pecks.</p><p>“It’s kinda nice to know I’m not the only one she has in her spotlight.”</p><p>“Oh I think everyone will take a hit this week, I have to say, it’s reminded me how very much I enjoyed the summers Baird and I spent with your father and Caroline – never ending drama.”</p><p>“Hmm, and what with the amount of hairspray you guys used in the 80s, you must’ve been high all the time anyhow.”</p><p>“Bit like being in Dynasty,” she tugged on his arm to draw him back to the path that returned to the woods.</p><p>“So, I’ve got something I need to discuss with you,” he starts, glad of the silence and their time alone, offering the opportunity to open up a discussion he’s been trying to get to for weeks now. “Been talking to my legal team,” he takes a breath, “about changing my will.”</p><p>“Oh?” She is half interested now, tilting her head towards him. “In what regard?”</p><p>“You. In that regard.”</p><p>Her mouth momentarily falls open, closely followed by narrowed eyes. “Roman.”</p><p>“Hear me out.”</p><p>“Don’t make any grand declarations.”</p><p>“Hardly that but thanks for listening.” He kicked at the wet leaves as they walked, the sodden dark pile clumping underfoot.</p><p>“Alright, okay, I’m listening – go.”</p><p>He huffed, the moment losing lustre, “I want you as next of kin,” he says brusquely, because nothing ever goes how he plans it in his head, “And as you won’t even consider marrying me then I thought this way instead.”</p><p>She twisted her mouth to the left, chewed on her lip, “Why?”</p><p>“Because.” He shrugged, as if it was obvious, “I certainly don’t want it being my Dad. I don’t trust Kendall to be alert enough to make any kind of fucking logical decision and Shiv… I’d just rather it be you, okay, I trust you more than any of them. If I smash my brains out on some rocky slope next week then you decide what happens to my organs. That’s it, end of discussion.”</p><p>“You can’t just state <em>‘end of discussion’</em> like I have no say.”</p><p>“I learned that move from you.”</p><p>“I’m better at it. <em>Rome…</em>” She started.</p><p>“Don’t say no,” he was suddenly in earnest, eyes wide as he stopped and stared at her, turning her body to face him. “Please. There’s nobody else. You’re my family.”</p><p>She instinctively moved her hand to his face, her gloved palm against his cheek – he kissed the spot where the skin of her wrist was visible and it made her smile, heart soften. “It isn’t no, but it’s a big thing, I mean you might have discussed it first.”</p><p>“You’d say no.”</p><p>“So you did it anyway?” She almost laughed. “Do you know how childish that sounds?”</p><p>“Right though, I’m still a fucking kid.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that neither.” She sucked on her tongue, giving herself thinking time, “Your family won’t like it.”</p><p>He shrugged, “Screw them. The apartment too,” he glanced away again, “that’s yours, should anything… you won’t ever take money, but the apartment is yours too now.”</p><p>She could volley him with any number of reasons as to why that wasn’t the right decision, but she recognised his authenticity.</p><p>“Not worried I’ll slowly poison you?” She offered instead. “Take you out a bit quicker?”</p><p>“No more than usual.”</p><p>“Mm,” she leant forward, and he seemed surprised when she kissed him considering her pissed-off tone. “In terms of you trying to ‘buy me’, I mean it’s a fucking big thing.”</p><p>“I’m not –.” He started but she cut him off.</p><p>“<em>Honey,</em> we’re still back at the same point – the same discussion we had on that boat – <em>getting me to stay</em>. I’m not sure how many times I can tell you I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“Why do you link it to that? It isn’t anything to do with that.”</p><p>“Isn’t it? Marriage, living together, now signing me into your will. Roman these are physical, tactile, legal ways of somehow tying me to you, so I can’t just walk away.”</p><p>“You wanna walk away – fucking go.” He flounced back, angry with himself for being short, for feeling emotional when she always seemed so fucking together.</p><p>“You know that’s not what I mean.” As ever she is calm, measured, takes a step backward as she speaks, ever able to read his mood and change it. “If I’m wrong, I apologise.” She said. “But there’s a theme, Roman.”</p><p>“Yeah, wanting to be with you. You have to question everything. Doubt it.”</p><p>“I’m a miserable old bitch.”</p><p>He laughed at that, “Yeah, you fucking are.”</p><p>She allowed him that, scowled over her glasses, “Will or not,” she started, voice harsh but then softening. “Apartment or not… married or not, I’m in this for the long haul. I can only say that so many times.”</p><p>“Show it, maybe.”</p><p>“You’re the one who makes grand gestures.” She said, but she appreciated his comment, understood it. “I’ll try.” She said softly with a shrug, and held her hand out to him. “I think I will need my own team to look over the papers, the terms of all this.”</p><p>He expected that, gave a short nod and took her hand. “You remember the way back?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>At the car she presses him against the door and kisses him forcefully, her tongue claiming his repeatedly, and its hot against the cold of winter around them. Intoxicating. And she tastes of the whisky they’ve sipped on the walk.</p><p>“I wanted you for so long,” he admits.</p><p>“Mmm, and now you have me all the time.” Somehow her hands are inside his jacket, he doesn’t know how or when she did it, and she’s pushing up his sweater, leather-clad fingers against his skin. “Not getting dull yet?”</p><p>“Not yet, no. And I gotta say, the thought of fucking you in wellington boots covered in shit is a real fucking turn-on.”</p><p>“Dick. Take your pants off and get in the back seat before I change my mind.”</p><p>He shrugged his coat off, threw it into the front of the car and started unbuckling his belt.</p><p>“You know, I read some gossip once that Gill was trying to fuck you.”</p><p>“You read?” Her voice went up suggesting she was intrigued.</p><p>“Or heard. Whichever. Same thing. It true?”</p><p>She had thrown her jacket on top of his, slammed the driver’s door shut and opened the back one, watching as he perched on the seat and tugged his boots off.</p><p>“Surely you’d have to ask him.”</p><p>“You could’ve played a different side,” he inched back on the seat, pushing his trousers down his hips, “been set up in his mansion-apartment by now.”</p><p>“Oh but I like to play dirty.” She sat on the edge as he had, pushed the boots off and dropped them to the floor before closing the door and kneeling on the seat. “And you’re as grubby as it gets, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Come here,” he yanked on her waist, pulling her onto him, crushing against her mouth.</p><p>“Hang on,” she spluttered, hands inching her own trousers down. His hands joined hers until she was naked from the waist down and they giggled and kissed as they rearranged themselves on the back seat, found a way for her to sit comfortably in his lap with enough leverage to guide their movements.</p><p>“I like the way you smell when you’re turned on,” he says when one hand is between her thighs, fingers rubbing against her until she’s wet. “The way it feels to be a man who’s been inside you.”</p><p>“Is that important to you?” She half whispers, fingers coiling in his hair as she rises and falls at his touch.</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>She wonders why that makes him feel important, special, but the thought quickly passes as her breath catches in her throat as two fingers slide inside and he relishes that, thinks of the pleasure he’s able to give her. He lifts his thumb, rubs at her and then she gasps, a perfectly formed “Oh, god,” as she grabs at his bicep, hips rolling forward to guide his touch.</p><p>“Fingers. Tongue. Dick. Every bit of me that’s been inside of you is blessed.”</p><p>“Fucking idiot,” she laughs, forehead banging softly against his, and he has those wide dark eyes boring into her, hungry for her, unblinking and focussed on his task. “And people think you don’t have staying power,” she said, her tongue jutting out to lick her lips, then crushing into his mouth.</p><p>Weirdly he enjoys the sensation of her glasses pressing sharply into his nose, the sound of her voice lifting and the pressure building inside her.</p><p>“Wait, stop, Rome…” her hand closes around his wrist and she stills, he follows her lead, stops his movements, delicately removes his fingers and strokes the warm skin of her thighs as she comes down from the edge.</p><p>She’s giggling as she presses her nose against his, breathing haphazardly. “Good?” He asks, kissing her neck, suckling on bare shoulders where her sweater has slipped.</p><p>“Mmm, too much so,” she rests her chin on his head, groans as her body sways on top of his, hips still jerking forward at the sensation of being pressed so close to him in such a confined space. She pulls her glasses off and drops them onto the seat beside her, “I’m too old for this.”</p><p>“Never,” his face is buried against her chest, because he can never fill himself enough with the scent of her. “Grandma.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“I wish you would.”</p><p>She grasps at his head with both hands, forcing him to look at her, lets him lick at her palms, nuzzle her wrists, before she kisses him. Long, slow, deep kisses. It’s the eve before Christmas Eve and she’s hiding in the woods so she can freely make love to the man she loves and there’s something ridiculously wonderful about that.</p><p>His hand shifts between their bodies as they kiss and she gasps into his mouth when he guides his erection inside her. His hands on her hips are firm and somehow gentle, moving with her as she rocks against him; there’s little he can do but rest his head back and breathe and enjoy the sheer joy of a woman like her riding him – and the surprising thing is, he’s still happy to just be there for her absolute pleasure.</p><p>*</p><p>When he glances at her across the tiny table in the pub she still has the faintest hint of rose blush in her cheeks – though she’ll tell him it’s a result of the fire they’re sitting by. They order pie for lunch, are already halfway down a bottle of red wine when the food appears. It’s already busy in there and the landlord assures him by evening it’ll be packed to the rafters. But he’s toasted when they arrive, and as always, enjoys the attention as the regulars applaud him and his generous donation. He notes the flash of a few cameras and reckons some of the pictures will be on news outlets within the afternoon but he doesn’t care, pulls Gerri into his side and makes her smile for a few shots before she jerks herself loose and finds a free table.</p><p>Her hair is tousled at the back, he doesn’t tell her because he enjoys the fact it’s the spot where his fingers curled and tugged that bit too hard when he came. As he watches her scan the menu he thinks of that very thing – coming inside her only a half-hour earlier, wiping her thighs clean with tissues from her handbag and laughing at her predicament as she tried to get her underwear back on. These are the secretive, intimate moments he tucks away in his brain and will undoubtedly replay when he’s alone in some hotel somewhere and they’re in different time zones. The sound of her sing-song laughter as she stumbled from the back seat and forced wobbly legs back into unflinching wellington boots.</p><p>“I forgot my glasses,” she says, forcing the menu under his face, “they must be in the car still.”</p><p>“Want them?”</p><p>“No. Leave them. Choose food, I’m famished.”</p><p>“All that exertion. Long walk.”</p><p>“Quite.”</p><p>She sheds her sweater after lunch, is wearing a red top beneath, and her hair is loose and she seems free and at ease – a combination of their morning perhaps and the wine and the hearty food and the heat of the fire. The pub is noisy, there is Christmas music blaring and the crowds are joyful and drunk, singing along, nipping outside to smoke in the frosty air.</p><p>“I like this,” she says, and he lifts his head to follow her gaze to the sign above the bar: ‘<em>My next husband will be normal</em>.’</p><p>“Fuck. That’s me done for then.” He states, tipping the last of his wine down his throat. “Let’s get pissed, hide here for the rest of the day.”</p><p>“You best go get me another drink then.” She tugs on the sleeve of his shirt before he gets up, watches as others part at the bar for him to order, the way an older man slaps him on the back and Roman laughs uncomfortably at the attention.</p><p>“Your mother will be livid,” she says as she starts on her Gin and Tonic.</p><p>“I’ll text Shiv, get us excused for dinner. The punishment will be severe.”</p><p>“Tut tut, you’ll have to go without pocket money.”</p><p>“Poor me.”</p><p>“Maybe I’d really love him…” she says, almost shyly, as shy as she ever can be when she’s used to battling – a lone female voice in a room full of powerful men. “…my next husband.”</p><p>He somehow manages to miss the point, is distracted by the jostling going on behind him. “Maybe.” He has got shots, pushes one to her, “Come on, keep up.”</p><p>“I’ll be sick. Only one.” But she downs it anyhow, eager to keep up, recalls Japan and his quick lines and never-ending energy.</p><p>“There’s a game going on, shall we get in?”</p><p>She twists her head, notes the group of old men playing cards. “You know I’ll win, right?”</p><p>“Suck those fuckers dry for me bitch!”</p><p>*</p><p>It turns dark just after four, and then the light in the pub seems brighter, warmer, they play cards until the music gets too loud and she’s too drunk to focus and then somehow – and she’s damned if she can remember how when she sees the pictures in the coming days – but they’re dancing with the rest of the rabble. Even when Roman is jerking up and down, the energy of a five-year-old on sugar as he squats repeatedly to the beat, she continues to move with those around her. Allows herself to be swept up in the excitable energy of it all, when usually she floats above it, glued to her phone, eyes on the next deal. It’s so rare she’s in the moment, enjoying the moment.</p><p>Someone has their hands on her waist and she doesn’t really realise until Roman is pulling on her arm and pressing her into him.</p><p>“Let’s not forget whose bed you share.”</p><p>“I’ve never been one for jealousy.”</p><p>“Me neither. But not you.” His hands grip her ass, “Not sharing you.”</p><p>They stumble home on foot, too drunk to drive, Roman singing and dancing on ahead as she laughs at his antics, swinging her bag as she follows. The frost is somewhat sobering during the lengthy walk, the village silent in the deep darkness, a world away from their city that’s never still. Never turned off and put to rest for the night.</p><p>“Everything is a game,” he calls to her, walking backwards. “This fucking world we live in, plastic people, money, backstabbing fucking motherfucking cunts.”</p><p>“Roman,” she warns, hushing him, “it’s late, people are sleeping.”</p><p>“Ohh… Shh, shh,” he presses his fingers to her lips, halts their walk. “But you’re real,” he is forceful, grinding into her, pressing her body tight to his so there’s no air between them. “Aren’t you? Tell me, this is real, this is all real for you.”</p><p>“You know that,” she holds him up, allows him to smother her neck with his mouth, the pressure of his hands overwhelming. “Why would you doubt that now, hmm…” She kisses his head soothingly, holds him, “Don’t let her sow doubt. Not after everything…”</p><p>They tiptoe into the house to avoid getting called into the late-night chatter in the lounge, scurry upstairs to bed like naughty teenagers, leaving their clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor. She thinks enough to rinse her face, brush her teeth, but she crawls into bed feeling dizzy and giddy. Falls to sleep flat on her back with her arms above her head and Roman snoring ungentlemanly beside her.</p><p> </p><p>It’s late when they wake.</p><p>She twists on her side, disorientated, confused as she scans the room and groans at her aching body.</p><p>“Okay?” He whispers behind her.</p><p>“Forgot where I was.” She settles again then, Roman pressed up against her back, curled around her, an arm over her waist.</p><p>“Occupational hazard.”</p><p>“I guess so. Christ, my fucking head.”</p><p>“Hangover cure?”</p><p>“No idea. I never get this drunk.”</p><p>He smirks at that, presses his fingers against her stomach as his mouth brushes against the back of her neck, “Happy Christmas Eve.”</p><p>That hits like a flood, funny feeling – happiness – when you’re not used to it and want to somehow hold onto it forever.</p><p>“Love you,” he adds and she closes her eyes at that, brushes her hand over his where he holds her body so tenderly.</p><p>“Happy Christmas Eve.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To those of you still reading I say thank you and Merry Christmas 😘</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Right Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christmas in England - part two</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Christmas Eve</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>“Hi shit kicker,” Roman simpered, sidling up to his sister outside the back door. “Ready for one of mom’s brainstorm ideas.”</p>
<p>“A festive family walk, what could be happier?” Shiv half-whispered, arms folded around herself. “Fucking Waltons over here.”</p>
<p>He showed the hip flask he’d stolen from Gerri and hidden in his coat pocket, “Learn from my greatness, oh simple child.”</p>
<p>She took it from him and took a swig, “Wow, that’s potent stuff.”</p>
<p>“Something Gerri likes,” he took a drink too.</p>
<p>“It’s what, ten in the morning? Mom inspires such joy.” Shiv glanced around the courtyard, “So, Gerri looks like shit. What time you two get in?”</p>
<p>“Maybe one-ish, but we spent the best part of the day idling away the hours in the pub.”</p>
<p>“She usually holds her drink. You push her to the limit?”</p>
<p>“Clearly. I show you the photo of her singing?”</p>
<p>“Christ no, lemme see.”</p>
<p>He flashed his phone at her, scrolled through a few pictures of Gerri dancing with the village locals, a few of them together and he and Shiv giggled their way through them as if they were thirteen again.</p>
<p>“She looks different,” she said wistfully, and then thrust the phone back in Roman’s hand. “Looks fun, better than being here.”</p>
<p>“You should have joined.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I should have. Call it being married, and sensible.” She huffed, dug the heel of her walking boot back into the gravel. “You think this will last, you and Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Wow, someone’s spending too much time with mother dearest.”</p>
<p>“Just a question, ignore it.”</p>
<p>He turned his back to the others, jerked his chin up, “Are you one to talk? What’s happening with Tom?”</p>
<p>“Come on you two,” Caroline called, then clapped her hands sharply, and he turned back again, let Shiv hook onto his arm, half his focus on Gerri as she walked with Rava, the children running ahead with the dogs.</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>“You answer first, asshole.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Of course yes, shit what am I gonna say, no I’m just using her?”</p>
<p>Shiv laughed, her voice hollow, “You think it’ll last, really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he shrugged, “stop fucking laughing.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” she giggled, brushing her hair back behind her ears. “You’re too dependent.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like mom too. Dash of Dad thrown in.”</p>
<p>“We all think it, you hang on her every word, put her advice ahead of everyone else’s.”</p>
<p>“That’s no bad thing,” he brushed the entire thing into the far reaches of his mind because what if he was dependent on her now? What if he did weight her advice compared to every other human being he knew? “If the alternative is you motherfuckers.”</p>
<p>“Look all I’m saying is how do you know she ain’t gonna screw you over?”</p>
<p>“Aw don’t start that shit,” he snapped, voice harder than usual.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying, her wanting to be CEO it’s not beyond the realms of possibility, Rome, come on. It’s more obvious than her wanting to shack up with you.”</p>
<p>“I come to you for positivity.”</p>
<p>“Honesty, maybe, even if the rest of our family are screwed up. And she’s got form –,”</p>
<p>“Look Shiv,” he shook his head, cutting her off, feeling like his guts were churning. “I love you, yeah, but Christ… Gerri is…” he glanced to where she walked ahead of them, the familiar curve of blonde hair bobbing as she moved, the slope of her shoulders, the way she held herself. He can smell her fragrance even when they’re apart now, remember the silk of her skin as she lies against him in bed at night, the way her belly feels against the palm of his hand when he lies behind her with his arm draped over her hip. “Look, it’s Christmas Eve, and not everything in this fucking world is about Waystar – fuck.”</p>
<p>“Alright, jeez hit a nerve much.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that it’s just… Look, I really… like me and Gerri, none of it makes sense, I get that. I don’t need to keep being reminded of it.” He dug his hands in his pockets, “Only it does, yeah. It really works.”</p>
<p>“Would you choose her?”</p>
<p>“As in?” He queried, focused on Shiv’s face as she spoke.</p>
<p>“As in over Waystar, would you choose her, over Dad, if it came to it?”</p>
<p>“You mean vote against him?” He bit down on his tongue, heart racing at the mere thought of it. “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>They upped their pace a little so they didn’t lose contact with the leading group.</p>
<p>“You’re different with her. Like, more normal maybe, well as normal as you can be… You just seem settled, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“And you’re not?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, course,” but she turned abruptly silent at his question, closed her arms around herself, her attention drawn to the children as they ran ahead, yelping and screeching, excited with less than a day to go.</p>
<p>“You think mom will continue to invite us with noise like that? She looks like she’s gonna bust a gasket.” Roman offered, because focussing on the general-like command of their overbearing mother was something they could both do without offending each other.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” she shrugged, “what would you do next year instead, return to Dad’s gatherings?”</p>
<p>“Not sure,” but he was, because he’d thought of it often. Where he would be if he wasn’t there. “A lodge, in the middle of nowhere,” he admitted.</p>
<p>She laughed, “Just you and Gerri, hey.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, something like that.”</p>
<p>“Rome…” she started but he was distracted watching the jaunt of Gerri’s hips as she walked, the sound of her voice as she laughed at something Rava was saying.</p>
<p>If they were on their own for Christmas he’d kidnap her, squirrel her away to some lodge in the middle of a snow-filled forest, accommodation loaded with all they’d need apart from a signal, no wifi, no communication except for what passed between them. He’d pick her brains, lie naked in her arms in front of a fire and listen to every word she wanted to share. It was what he’d choose for honeymoon if she’d allowed it, but the rip of his heart reminded him all over again she hadn’t agreed to it, nor even entertained the idea.</p>
<p>“You want children, Rome?” Shiv asked, and it shook him from his reflections. “I’d never thought of it really, just assumed… but Tom does.”</p>
<p>He followed her gaze to where Sophie and Iverson played in the thin layer of snow. “Course he does, sap that he is.” He dug his hand into his pocket, drew out the flask and took another drink, handed it to her. “If you don’t wanna be an incubation chamber then don’t do it. Nobody can force you.”</p>
<p>“I can’t do it,” she said sharply and he twisted his head to hers. “What I mean is, not that I don’t want to, because I don’t even know if I do, but that – I had a miscarriage, last month.”</p>
<p>The admission made him feel awkward; they weren’t the kind of family who readily shared information and certainly never feelings – he’d tried once after the whole Turkey thing and that had been an unmitigated disaster. Words struggled in his throat, and he glanced forward again, the children racing, his mother gripping onto Kendall’s arm as she navigated a particularly icy patch where the light dusting of snow had frozen overnight.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry,” he finally said.</p>
<p>“I didn’t even know I was pregnant,” she reached to him for the flask again, “no big deal, right. Like it was so early on and apparently it’s really common. But Tom thinks… he thinks I should care more. Maybe I should.”</p>
<p>“I think you do,” he offered, and then quieted, took her arm, suddenly concerned that she didn’t fall neither. His sister had never seemed human to him, more than human, but it occurred to him in that moment that she was as susceptible to illness and heartbreak as anyone else, and that one day she might be pregnant and therefore have to give birth and even with the best care the thought of that still worried him slightly – he recalled his own mother’s stories of how horrific her labour with Roman had been. Shiv was the person he was closest to in the family, but what if one day he had to deal with her being ill or worse…</p>
<p>He shook the thought away. Because it made him think about the fact one day they’d all be old, and when they were all old, all his Dad’s age, then Gerri wouldn’t be there and that felt like somebody had ripped his stomach out, like somebody had shifted the earth.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“He’s using again,” Rava said, a half shrug but a tone of acceptance in her voice. She folded her arms around herself as they walked. “But I guess you already knew that.”</p>
<p>“I rather suspected,” Gerri replied, “during the trip he’s seemed, well, edgy at times, I thought maybe he just needed something to help him get through being here.”</p>
<p>“Why is here any different?”</p>
<p>She bit her lip at that, almost forgetting herself and the secrets she knew. “I just mean his mother and… you know… close contact with family can be difficult,” she said quickly.</p>
<p>“For all of us, but we don’t all risk –,” she sighed heavily, “When I agreed to try again it was the one condition.”</p>
<p>“Understandably.”</p>
<p>Their feet crunched on the snow, the sky overhead was grey and heavy with the promise of more to come. She’d known Rava for years now, had always held an odd kind of respect for her; she was calm, level-headed, discreet. She could have destroyed Kendall a hundred times over and yet she didn’t. In amongst the mess and the shit the majority of the Roy parents put their kids through she was trying to do a decent enough job with her children; it seemed unlikely she’d push either of them into the business but Gerri had a feeling Sophie was one to bet on for future domination.</p>
<p>“Can I register my surprise?” Rava asked, an attempt to shift the conversation.</p>
<p>Gerri smiled, looking ahead to the stables they were heading to. “Go right ahead.”</p>
<p>“It’s still going on?”</p>
<p>She pinched her fingers together, rubbed her thumb over her index finger, “<em>Going on</em>… That’s one way to describe it.”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean,” Rava laughed, “I never took you for one to put up with the Roy bullshit in your own home.”</p>
<p>“Well,” she breathed deeply, “there’s a surprising low level of it.”</p>
<p>“Tamed him? You need to tell me how you managed it, I’ve had two children with Kendall and still we can’t…”</p>
<p>Gerri slowed her steps, watched as the children raced into the stables, “I don’t like to think of it that way.” She said, “That somehow I’ve changed or tempered his behaviour.”</p>
<p>“It’s what they all think, that you’ve got some kind of hold over him, some witch-like spell.”</p>
<p>“Sure. It’s easier than facing up to the fact he’s just potentially happier now, comfortable enough to be himself.” She shook her head, “Look he makes his own choices, does his own thing, it’s just at the moment – and forever how long that works – we’re going in the same direction.”</p>
<p>“You like that,” Rava said, “Your voice changed.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think –,”</p>
<p>“You can ignore it,” she teased as they reached the stable entrance, “but you’re under his spell perhaps.”</p>
<p>Gerri smirked, pursing her lips together and turning to look out at the view.</p>
<p>“You going to ride? Sophie said you would.”</p>
<p>“I did rather agree to it, yes.” She shifted her attention to the left as Roman slid up behind her, close at her back but not touching. “You going to come riding?” She asked him, felt his hand slide into hers, a brief kiss to her cheek. “What’s that for?”</p>
<p>“Stuff. And yeah, you know I love a good ride.”</p>
<p>He let go of her hand as quickly as he’d held it, grinning as he stepped backwards into the stable.</p>
<p>She spun around, shaking her head at him, “How did I know you’d make that joke?”</p>
<p>“Oh fuck, we’ve reached the point where there are no surprises. Care to put a wager on this?”</p>
<p>“The ride or the fact you no longer surprise me?”</p>
<p>“The ride, the other is a given, clearly.”</p>
<p>She rested her hand against his chest as she got closer, whispering as the others chattered around them, “No contest, I ride better than you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Roman sleeps in the afternoon, not something he’s usually known for, but he skips lunch when they return from a couple of hours exploring the grounds by horseback. They defrost by the large open fire in the lounge waiting for lunch to be served and he nods off on the couch, much to the amusement of the others.</p>
<p>Gerri wakes him, sends him off to bed, blaming the travel and the day spent drinking down the pub. She manages lunch, reads for a while by the fire then disappears to join him, slipping in beside him in her underwear and nodding off pressed up against his back.</p>
<p>Come early evening and he's still lounging on top of the bed whilst she showers, listens to her moaning and firing off expletives when she stubs her toe getting out of the shower. “Holy fuck,” she complained, plonking herself at the dressing table. “How can my head still hurt so much?”</p>
<p>“You take aspirin?”</p>
<p>“This morning,” she rubbed at her temples, “could you get me some water?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he tipped himself up from the bed, took a bottle of water from the mini fridge and raided his bag for pills. “Here, migraine tablets.”</p>
<p>“You never told me you get migraines?”</p>
<p>“I don’t, but you do, sometimes, work stress I think but well, what do I do know. Stuffed these in here for if we’re ever away and you need them.”</p>
<p>She eyed him disbelievingly as she popped two from the packet and handed them back, “Better stuff them back in there then, just in case.”</p>
<p>He did just that, threw himself back on the bed and half-played on his phone, half watched her as she applied her eyeliner.</p>
<p>“You’re feeling better though?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Peachy.”</p>
<p>“This church thing?” She prompted.</p>
<p>“Mm, not my bag neither but well,” he said, “mom likes to put in an appearance, lady of the manor and all that. It’s only an hour or so, then back here for a family dinner, don’t worry, no guests beyond us.”</p>
<p>“Good. Can you sing?”</p>
<p>“Quite the fucking choirboy let me tell you,” he laughed, then threw his phone aside. “We made Twitter, that shot from the pub.”</p>
<p>“And how do I look?”</p>
<p>“Fuckable.”</p>
<p>“Ever my intention,” she put down the mascara, glanced at him in the mirror. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure, just, you know…”</p>
<p>Her eyebrows rose, “I know…?”</p>
<p>“Christmas shit, family shit,” he huffed.</p>
<p>“Only two more days, then we can escape.” She started on her hair, looping it up into a loose twist at the back and pinning it. “Clear the cobwebs, how’s the weather there, you checked?”</p>
<p>“Plenty of snow.”</p>
<p>“It’s been coming down here all afternoon.”</p>
<p>“The kids are ecstatic.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that, “Favourite uncle now. Favourite relative.”</p>
<p>“Am I?”</p>
<p>“You play with them,” she shrugged, “I don’t think they get a whole lot of that. You were really good with them today, the riding, you know. Offered up some fun.”</p>
<p>He crawled down the bed, knelt on the end and rested his hands on her shoulders, staring at their reflection in the mirror.</p>
<p>“You sure you don’t have something to tell me?” She asked gently.</p>
<p>“Nope,” he pressed his face into the back of her neck; it was Shiv’s information, not his. “No.”</p>
<p>“Okay, you wanna get dressed then, so we’re not always the last down – I don’t think your mother will ever forgive me for missing breakfast this morning.”</p>
<p>“Imagine the horror of a couple sleeping in late.” He kissed the back of her neck, squatted his chin on her shoulder. “Then disappearing back to bed in the middle of the afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Imagine.” She lifted her hand up to touch his face, feeling oddly soft and sentimental as she looked at him – it was so very unlike her, to find herself feeling emotional over Christmas, she usually just saw it as parties and the chance to work quietly in the office with the rest of the staff off for a couple of weeks. “Go, get showered and changed, I need to facetime my daughters before we go out, catch them at a reasonable time.”</p>
<p>“You sending me off like a naughty toddler?” But he was already sliding off the bed, jerking his t-shirt over his head.</p>
<p>“I need the peace,” she lied.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He held her hand in church, in their elevated position on the front row because Caroline was local royalty and she glanced at him every now and then, the sharpest look on her face at their entwined hands, but he didn’t let go, even when they rose to sing the first carol and held their hymn books – even then when they returned to sitting he immediately reached for Gerri’s hand again; he wasn’t even sure why, it might have started as mere convenience as they’d sat and she’d tapped his knee with her hymn book as his leg had rocked up and down. Then defiance as his mother had scowled at the action. But maybe comfort, as he remembered all those Christmases as a child searching for some recognition from either parent that he was doing something right, that he wasn’t completely written off.</p>
<p>He'd pegged himself at the bottom of the pile, potentially just slightly above Connor merely for the fact he was born to Caroline and not the unmentionable crazy first wife. But even that seemed debateable at times. The family dogs were above him in the hierarchy, he knew that for sure.</p>
<p>He squeezed Gerri’s hand and her fingers threaded warmly between his, her eyes never leaving the vicar.</p>
<p>On her left sat Sophie, then Iverson, then Rava and Kendall. The scene was not all that remarkably different from the previous year, only he was a zombie then, either drunk or stoned, wafting around in this constant air of misery and loss. Occupying that creaky old wooden bed on his own, re-reading all of their messages, scanning through the photos on his phone like some ridiculous low-grade idiot.</p>
<p>He can’t remember his own childhood Christmases, just a lot of his parents shouting and carrying on their own private war. Hiding in the boathouse with his siblings, throwing Connor into the ice-cold lake – it could explain a lot. There were presents, of course, hundreds of them, loud parties and people he didn’t know. But quiet moments, moments of reflection or moments when he felt joyful – he can’t remember those.</p>
<p>There’s games after dinner and music, new pyjamas for the children who dash around excitedly because they’ve been allowed to stay up that little bit later. Iverson is chasing Sophie with mistletoe; she’s screeching in response and his mother is barking orders for them to calm down despite the fact the house is dressed up like some winter wonderland. But then that’s always been his mother, make it look good on the surface and nobody will question what’s going on underneath. He steals the sprig from the kid’s hand, finds Gerri warming herself by the fire in the lounge and holds it over her.</p>
<p>“Not here,” she whispers, offering him her cheek instead.</p>
<p>“Of course here, here of all places,” he waggles his eyebrows at her and she’s reminded of their moment by the fire, his declaration of love, making love repeatedly on that old beaten up couch.</p>
<p>When he nudges her nose with his she gives in, tilts her head, lets him kiss her despite the fact the room is full of his family and her skin tingles in anticipation of being alone with him later, of having him between her thighs. His free hand is against her back, she can feel his fingers scrunching into the white silk of her top and she pulls her mouth back quickly, eyes glinting.</p>
<p>“Think we should get a game of Poker going,” she states, downing her sherry.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, let’s murder the plebs!”</p>
<p>He clapped his hands together, “Come on motherfuckers, gather for the game.” He twisted a chair around at the table, sprawled himself on it. “And prepare for your doom.”</p>
<p>Gerri sat beside him, reaching for the pack of cards in the middle of the table. Shiv placed candles along the centre, Tom was babbling on about some nonsense and Caroline, rang through to the kitchen for a cheese plate and mulled wine.</p>
<p>“Fuuuuck,” Kendall exclaimed, “look how she shuffles the cards, she’s like fucking shark over here.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to take a sense of pride in that,” Roman said, “like, even though it’s not me, she’s <em>with</em> me, so I’m gonna swallow that glory, right.”</p>
<p>Gerri laughed at that, deftly dealing the cards out to the adults around the table. “You would fucking steal my glory, you little worm,” she teased and he laughed loudly because it was so unlike her to tease him publicly and certainly not like her to use one of their personal insults in front of anybody else.</p>
<p>She seemed to realise what she’d done, her cheeks warmed, but she launched into explaining the rules of play and dealt quickly. His hand was on her knee as she spoke, comforting to have him there, to hear him taking the piss out of his siblings in their usual sarcastic manner. It took the edge off of the fact she was deftly manoeuvring herself through ‘family life’ here, and trying her best not to dwell on that fact. She had found it hard enough being part of her own family, be that her parents or the one she made with Baird; she had always been more comfortable sitting on the outside of one, watching the Roys and their painful fucked-up interactions and game playing from the front row seat she’d occupied for many years.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure she felt part of the family, their family. But she was almost certain she and Roman had built one of their own now, only two players invited.</p>
<p>“Right, bets laid,” she stated. “Let’s play.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They were lying side-by-side in the early hours, the shadows of the room illuminated as they adjusted to the light. She is half naked, has given up these days with pyjama bottoms because they never last so she dispenses with them, saves time later. Her head rests against his arm, one hand stroking his leg beneath the sheets, her fingers like the daintiest touch of a spider spinning a silken web as she dances over his skin.</p>
<p>“I was thinking today,” he starts, hears her hum a response to show she’s listening, “this time last year…”</p>
<p>“Don’t.”</p>
<p>“…I was fucking miserable, like a fucked up little shit having to finally face the consequences of my actions.”</p>
<p>“I bet you were drunk, disappearing to London to some non-descript party.”</p>
<p>“That’s the thing, non-descript – nobody I know or care for. Just somewhere to pass time.” He shrugged. “Better now, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“Mmm…”</p>
<p>“What were you doing?<br/><br/>“Hang on,” she held a hand in the air to silence him, “you hear that?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“That.” They were silent for a few seconds, “There, hear that? That’s an owl.”</p>
<p>“Pretty common I think here babe.”</p>
<p>She was already starting to sit and he was annoyed that their comfortable position had been disturbed. “You can’t imagine getting one in New York,” She said.</p>
<p>“No. Well, yes, but only because you can buy anything.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather like to see it, in its natural habitat, you know.”</p>
<p>“Sure, let’s see if we can’t find someone to arrange it. In fact, fuck it, we’ll do that for your Christmas present, I’ll send all the diamonds back.”</p>
<p>She laughed, snuggling her face into his neck as she kissed him, “Oh, but I want those too.”</p>
<p>“Course you do,” he brushed his hand through her hair.</p>
<p>“I only like the very best of things,” she teased, her tongue tickling his neck, and then she was sliding out of their bed, moving to the window in the dark and disappearing under the heavy curtains to press her face to the cold pane.</p>
<p>He clicked his tongue in annoyance but followed her, pressing his body against hers, the room itself wasn’t uncomfortably cold, but his mother no longer asked them to light the fires in the rooms and she kept the heating on low. But by the window it was frosty, the lightest snow falling beyond, and it was so dark, only the light of the moon offering a glimpse of the gardens.</p>
<p>“If I spot it first will you come back to bed?” He asked, mouth pressing into her shoulder, leaving a wet patch on her top where he suckled.</p>
<p>“You’ll lie.”</p>
<p>“I’m not in the habit of lying to you,” he shifted her hair, kissed the back of her neck repeatedly, the side of it where she shuddered when he touched, “can’t lie to you.”</p>
<p>She pressed her bottom back into him deliberately.</p>
<p>“Are you arching against me for a particular reason?” He teased. “Want something from me?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” her voice was hard as she played her usual role.</p>
<p>“Bitch.” His teeth nipped her neck.</p>
<p>“There!” She gasped, “see it? Look at its wingspan.”</p>
<p>They watched in silence for a few moments, until she shivered and he held her tighter. “Never, for one moment, did I think I’d be spending fucking Christmas Eve watching owls at a window.”</p>
<p>“It’s the price of being with an old woman.”</p>
<p>He didn’t respond to that but he would take it, that and more, to be with her. Part of her world.</p>
<p>“Where would you be instead? Usually be?” Her voice was light, playful. “Drunk somewhere you don’t recognise? High? With women you don’t recognise?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he held her tighter, “I wouldn’t swap this for anything. Miserable cunt last year.”</p>
<p>“Me too.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>She twisted her head, met his mouth with hers, kissing him deeply, full of affection.</p>
<p>“Tell me.”</p>
<p>“Let’s go back to bed.”</p>
<p>She is laughing at the creak of the bed as they clamber in, lays on her back and lets him cover her body with his – his mouth moving over her stomach.</p>
<p>“Tell me now,” he insists. “Where did you go? What did you do?”</p>
<p>“I was with Laura and Charlie, my usual destination, their house in the Hamptons.”</p>
<p>“You miss me?”</p>
<p>“No,” she lied, “you’d hurt me. I was angry with you.”</p>
<p>His head popped out from beneath the sheets, face by hers, “But you still missed me.”</p>
<p>She rested her hand on his cheek, “Little dick. Yes, yes I missed you.”</p>
<p>“Despite everything.” He breathed deeply, closed his eyes as his body fell between her thighs, “I longed for you. Hated myself.”</p>
<p>“Good.” She raked her nails through his hair, “I kept trying to hate you, kept thinking of the potential blow to my career, to distract myself from how disappointed I was it was over. Not work wise. Personally.”</p>
<p>“I spent the entire week comatose.”</p>
<p>“I figured as much,” she slipped her arms around his waist. “I was rather drunk too. I might have –,” she paused, unsure as to whether or not she needed to tell him this.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“They tried to set me up with some guy.”</p>
<p>“Which fucking guy?” He exclaimed, half laughing. “Did you consider it?”</p>
<p>“Momentarily, kinda wanted to rub your fucking nose in it. Boast about how quickly I could find someone else to screw.”</p>
<p>“But you…didn’t?” He said hopefully, pelvis grinding down into her.</p>
<p>“Course not. Maybe a brief kiss,” she held her fingers up, made a miniscule measurement with her thumb and little finger, “very brief.”</p>
<p>“You cheat.”</p>
<p>She pinched his back, “You dumped me!”</p>
<p>“Yes, but you’re mine, your heart is mine, nobody else’s.”</p>
<p>She screwed her mouth up, considering, but there was no doubt in her mind of that fact, for how ever long she would be alive, there was no denying that as fact. “No. Nobody else’s.” She stroked her hand through his hair again, “So, I believe,” she said, turning to look at the clock, “it’s Christmas Day, our first one together.”</p>
<p>“Mm, you think it’s okay to give you your first present then?”</p>
<p>She smirked, “Why do I get the feeling it’s your dick?”</p>
<p>“God you’re smart!”</p>
<p>“I think it’s probably the way it’s currently digging into me that’s the giveaway.” They laughed together at that, her legs shifting as she curved them around him.</p>
<p>“Interesting, isn’t it…”</p>
<p>“What?” she whispered, eyes drifting closed as his mouth moved over her neck.</p>
<p>“How good this all still is. Touching you, still as exhilarating as that first time.” His fingers stroked up her thigh, tickling close to where she wanted his touch the most, but not quite giving her that release yet. “Do you realise how good you make me feel?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she shot back, holding his head in her hands, palms warm against her skin, and smiling broadly at his expression, “yes, I know.”</p>
<p>“Some weird power kick in it?”</p>
<p>“Mm, maybe… Been a long time since anyone had looked at me the way you do, if anyone ever had.”</p>
<p>“How do I look at you?”</p>
<p>“Like you can’t wait to get me naked, slide your dick into me.”</p>
<p>“That’s true,” he stroked his fingers over her panties. “I think about it more now than I did as a randy teenager.”</p>
<p>“I have vague memories of that randy teenager, clumsy little thing. Always tripping over himself, over his words, eager to please, to be seen.”</p>
<p>He pressed the ball of his thumb hard against her clitoris, “See me now?”</p>
<p>She didn’t gasp, but her eyes fluttered momentarily, a shot of pleasure like electricity running up her body from the spot his thumb touched. She bit down on her lip as he pressed harder, rubbed her now with a knowledge that deepened their union; he was no great mind, took his time to think ideas through, it took him longer to form a response or battle plan unlike his siblings, but he watched and he learned and she’d taught him so many things already.</p>
<p>“You betrayed yourself tonight,” he whispered, fingers inching her underwear down.</p>
<p>“Oh?” She sounded genuinely surprised by that; he enjoyed the way her voice rose upwards.</p>
<p>“You revealed something.” He said, nimble fingers unbuttoning her top.</p>
<p>“What did I reveal?” She pushed her underwear off her ankles with the heel of her foot. “I never betray myself.”</p>
<p>“That you care for me.” He closed his lips around her nipple, sucking it into the heat of his mouth, teeth scraping until she pushed up against him. “Worm that I am.”</p>
<p>She couldn’t deny it – she had revealed something of herself – but instead she grabbed roughly at his neck, bit on his ear.</p>
<p>“Embarrassed by that fact,” he smirked, lifting his face back to hers, lips tripping over her face, “don’t like people knowing I mean something to you, hey?”</p>
<p>She didn’t answer that neither. Because she did feel sensitive about them knowing her inner feelings, some things – many things – she kept to herself, enclosed in her heart. It was safer that way. But she didn’t like to think he thought her embarrassed by him, it was far from that.</p>
<p>He flipped them over effortlessly, let her lay fully on top of him as they kissed deeply, slowly, one of his hands firm on her bottom, the other pushing her top completely free of her shoulders.</p>
<p>“Hungrily,” she said, fingers inching up his t-shirt, her nails sliding over his skin as she pushed it up and over his head. “You look at me hungrily.”</p>
<p>He smiled at that, both hands brushing her hair back, lips pressing against her forehead, “Like I never wanted anything more.”</p>
<p>The rush of heat through her body is familiar but still overwhelming, the dampness it leaves between her thighs, that gentle slick silk that his fingers enjoy so very much as they press inside her, stroking her inside and out.</p>
<p>She felt his chest expand and then contract against her breasts as he eased inside her, that familiar groan from the back of his throat as he moves deeply within her. His skin tastes faintly salty, she licks at his shoulder, taking all of it in, committing it to memory.</p>
<p>Sometimes she thinks his mouth is everywhere at once, as impossible as that is. That they’ve been lovers for many, many years because everything just works, there is no awkwardness, no clumsy fumbling mistakes, she is never unsatisfied or disappointed.</p>
<p>A smooth clean motion as they rise and fall together, mouths tight against the others, that intimacy that comes with being so close, and the non-stop intense kissing as he drives repeatedly inside her, tightening the knot in her stomach and expertly brings her to climax.</p>
<p>After, she finds herself lying on her stomach, Roman’s hands massaging her back, mouth travelling the length of her body, kisses to her round plump backside as he makes jokes about her riding skills.</p>
<p>“You know I was thinking earlier how shit Christmas was as a kid,” he says as he touches her, “can you imagine, Logan and Caroline ripping each other to shreds? You know when I was born, end of the fucking fairy tale.”</p>
<p>“I can’t say mine was a bed of roses,” she mumbled into the pillow, then shifted her head to the side, “shoulders,” she instructed and his hands moved and worked on her muscles. “But no, yours was much, much worse.” She turned her head again, moaned lightly at his touch then folded her arms, resting them on the pillow, her chin on her hands so she could speak. “I remember their arguments,” she said, “they were never…easy together. But yes, worse at the end.”</p>
<p>He shifted his body, sat astride her, flaccid penis resting against her bottom as he pressed his fingers into her back – he’d enjoyed enough massages over the years to know what worked.</p>
<p>“You never mention your parents,” he said, index finger stroking down her spine, enjoying the way she moved beneath him, how she arched up at the tickling sensation.</p>
<p>“What’s to say?” his statement, the prompts within it, didn’t sit easily with her; it was rare she reflected on her parents, rarer still she spoke about them. “My father remarried, left my mother when I was fairly young. Well provided for, of course, because all one needs in a parent is money.”</p>
<p>His fingers stilled at that, the high-ceilinged ancient room closing around him like a cloak. He dipped forward, pressed his lips to the back of her neck to take away the sudden shudder of loneliness.</p>
<p>“I know that sentiment.” He whispered.</p>
<p>“I know.” She closed her eyes at his touch, the stroke of his lips across her shoulder blades, the gentle tickle of his fingertips on her neck. “Was determined I wouldn’t need a man to provide for me.”</p>
<p>“I can imagine her, stubborn, determined little Geraldine. Sharpest person in her class. The girl all the others hated.”</p>
<p>She pushed back against him until he knelt over her, let her turn over, her body complaining at the movement. “Yes, but I was the bully.”</p>
<p>He laughed loudly at that, “Yeah, kinda figured that too.”</p>
<p>“Come here,” she demanded, hand reaching up and around, pressing into the back of his neck and bringing his mouth down to hers, because kissing him could never grow dull.</p>
<p>“You think we are where we come from?” He asked later, resting in her arms, safe there, to talk of whatever he pleased.</p>
<p>“No,” she said after much reflection. “I think we are who we choose to be – that doesn’t mean where we come from isn't the dominant factor in determining who we become. But far too many people in this world like to blame their actions on others – a lack of love from their parents the number one factor. Too poor. Too rich.”</p>
<p>“Which do you prefer?”</p>
<p>She smiled at that, fingers stroking over his back, “Rich, of course.” He smirked at her response, pressed his mouth against her breast, the beat of her heart beneath his cheek.</p>
<p>“You always smell rich.”</p>
<p>“Mm, age brings with it some benefits. Knowledge. Experience. Affording expensive pampering sessions,” she teased his ear with her tongue as she giggled. “Go to sleep, we’ll never wake for your mother’s schedule.”</p>
<p>“Roll on two days’ time, do what we fucking like.” And there was a promise in that.</p>
<p>*<br/><br/><strong><em>Christmas Day</em></strong></p>
<p>Christmas morning is a delicate balance – Caroline’s strict schedule has to be met, breakfast before presents (something that seems like a Victorian style of torture to Gerri as she watches the two children gobbling down food and glaring at the slow-moving adults). They have to gather together in the lounge around the fire and she thinks for one dreadful, stomach-churning moment they’ll all have to sit and open presents watching each other in silence. Thank god that isn’t the case and once the children get going on their mammoth pile their squeals of delight shift any focus that could possibly be placed on her.</p>
<p>Roman gifts her jewellery; an exquisite pair of emerald and diamond earrings she immediately wears, an extravagant Victorian three-row natural pearl necklace which she thinks is roughly the same price as one of the houses in the village. There’s a joke in the Tom Ford perfume she receives – <em>Fucking Fabulous</em> – “Because you are,” he tells her, sitting on the floor by her feet, one hand stroking her stocking-clad ankle. He seems pleased by the snowboard she gives him; she doesn’t mention the fact she ordered one of her subordinates to source and pay for it because she knows fuck all about any of that stuff. He immediately starts flicking through the book on Frank Hamer because his interest in true crime detectives hasn’t waned; and he’s genuinely surprised she gives him a camera, because, well “All you want to do is fill the apartment with photographs.” She tells him that with one hand on his shoulder, a brief kiss to his temple, and he feels richer than he ever has.</p>
<p>Caroline makes them walk mid-morning, when all the kids want to do is fill the day playing with their new toys, they sulk and complain but Roman seems to have found fifth gear and offers up the entertainment as he races them through the trees with Tom and Kendall; men can always locate their inner child.</p>
<p>“He’s happy,” Caroline says beside Gerri as they walk, her voice oddly toneless, there is no judgement or reflection on that fact, just a statement, something mentioned in passing like meaningless gossip. She says no more, shifts the conversation on to complaining over the fact she isn’t a grandmother yet and Gerri is glad Shiv opted to skip the walk and remain behind with Rava.</p>
<p>She disappears before dinner, finds a moment to text her daughters, and is unexpectedly delighted when Blair sends her a picture of her and Emma dressed in awful festive jumpers, both of their hands resting on Emma’s ever-expanding bump. There are things she is only just realising she has, things she never knew she needed.</p>
<p>There has been no temptation to check in with work, her work phone switched off in her bag for two days now. She placates herself with the idea that she’ll do a few hours as they fly to Switzerland, or when he’s off skiing, she’ll <em>find the time to work</em> – that’s a new proposition.</p>
<p>Dinner is traditional, everyone is well-behaved and the chatter drifts on long after they’ve finished eating. Different to Thanksgiving with his father, especially when Caroline nods off on the couch by the fire and the rest can escape the schedule; another round of cards instead, Tom drunk on red wine and singing Wham repeatedly. Sophie forcing Gerri to have her nails painted because she received a complete set for Christmas, an impromptu beauty parlour established around the coffee table. She is usually one for plain nails but she agrees to ‘festive red’, working her way through a large glass of Reisling as she sits and grimaces at the state of the glitter being sprinkled over her hand. Roman has each nail painted a different colour, a pink bow tied in his hair, and it is this she picks up later when he’s racing around in the snow with Kendall and the kids late in the afternoon.</p>
<p>The light is fading, that slow heavy feeling that comes over Christmas Day has settled, akin to Sunday afternoons, energy sapped and the will to consider moving into a new working week gone. Tom in bed with a headache. Shiv reading in one chair, Gerri trying to in another, but the yells from outside are distracting and she gives up, stands alone in the parlour for a while watching them through the window. She remembers sitting there many months ago, when it never stopped raining and she rocked in the chair and thought of how he had nearly died.</p>
<p>It was that which had really shook her. That he might not be in the world anymore, that he might die without them ever being together again. And so the flight to London and the drive to a hospital in a place she didn’t know to find him, just to be there and see with her own eyes he was okay. It was the same after Turkey, nervously texting him once they knew he’d been freed, careful of treading a fine line between showing concern and bombarding him because she was so relieved, so grateful he was still there.</p>
<p>It continues to surprise her, finding how much she cares.</p>
<p>She slips boots on, finds her coat and the hat and scarf Caroline had gifted her and trudges out to join them.</p>
<p>The sky is a mellow orange, fiery in the distance, skeletal black trees edge the landscape and she gazes out at that as she crosses the garden, bends to pick up the pink ribbon fallen from his hair as he raced around and resting on top of the snow. She threads it around her fingers, squeezes the damp from it, and smiles warmly when he waves, one arm looping around Sophie’s waist as he hoists her up and spins her.</p>
<p>She brushed her hair back from the wind, the flurry of snow in her face sticking to the loose strands that caught in the breeze blurring her vision.  Her lips felt sore and chapped from being out in the cold, but there was a certain amount of joy to be found in watching Roman and Kendall rolling in the snow, the children stuffing snowballs into their faces.</p>
<p>It was, as she would later admit to anyone that asked, the most perfect Christmas day she can remember. How things are meant to be. Gifts and games and feeling loved.</p>
<p>“Don’t even consider it,” she warns when he turns to her with a handful of snow, and he laughs, drops it, leaves the play for a moment to stand with her. “You having fun out here?”</p>
<p>“Surprisingly so,” he rested his hands on her shoulders, kissed her forehead, down her nose. “Not as much fun as I have with you, of course.”</p>
<p>“Well no, of course.” She lifted her face, moved deliberately until he got the idea and kissed her.</p>
<p>“I’m dreaming of outdoor hot tubs in the snow and a naked Gerri in it.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that as he turned his back to her, listened to him laugh at the children tripping Kendall, he lands on his knees and they stuff snow down his back and Roman is grinning like a fool, and she thinks back to Caroline’s simple statement about being happy. She’d always thought it a fragile, inconsequential thing, fleeting and immaterial really in the grand scheme of things. One could be happy for an hour, lose it just as easily.</p>
<p>“These kids are bad ass.” He states, mumbles on between laughing and she steps closer to him, can smell his skin even out there in the cold with the snow flying in her face.</p>
<p>The words bubbled in her chest as they had that time in the back of the cab when she listened to him chattering on and felt so at peace. She watched him now, laughing as he watched Kendall race down the garden pulling the sledge, legs caked in snow, and the feeling was similar – a sense of realisation and giddy excitement. Just like that day on the boat when he’d returned safely from Turkey, and she’d surprised herself by how overwhelmed with relief she was, even though she knew he was safe and on a flight back, even then, it wasn’t until she saw him whole and well that she truly relaxed. And then joy. Wobbling on uncertain legs unable to suppress the emotion, the usual stoic Gerri teetering and giggling at bad jokes because she was just so relieved he was okay.</p>
<p>He steps on her foot when he moves back, laughing still.</p>
<p>“Sorry babe,” he snatches a kiss, turns back to the scene. “This is fucking hilarious, so unlike him.” She rested a hand on his back as he spoke, felt the dampness of his jacket. “It’s good for him, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>She stepped close behind him, stood on her tiptoes, momentarily closed her eyes and breathed so deeply the snow seemed to land and melt on her lungs.</p>
<p>She rested her chin on his shoulder, bit her lip, smiled, a mixture of excitement and nerves, “Yes,” she whispered by his head, hesitant and yet somehow determined.</p>
<p>“Huh?” he was only half listening. “You say something?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said again quickly, snapping the word between her teeth and then swallowing the apprehension in her chest afterward.</p>
<p>He turned, wide-eyed, hair wet and sticking up in the snow. His hands reached for her, holding her squarely in front of him with his hands firm on her upper arms, frozen fingers flexing against her.</p>
<p>“Yes… to what?”</p>
<p>She bit her lip in an attempt to stifle the very broad smile that was appearing. “Yes,” she repeated again, exhilaration in her chest.</p>
<p>“Yes to what I think?”</p>
<p>She nodded then, finding joy in his sudden and absolute happiness.</p>
<p>He pressed her tight to him, mouth against her ear, breath hot, “You’re saying yes?”</p>
<p>She nodded again, though she could hardly move he was holding her so tight. “I am.” And then he lifted her off her feet and she couldn’t see anymore for the snow in her eyes.</p>
<p>
  
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They tell no one.</p><p>And yet he is grinning so broadly over the dining table at supper that his mother lectures him on the stupidity of popping pills when there are children in the house. The irony of that stings when his brother is clearly on much harder substances and Caroline’s inners must be lit up like a rainbow with the amount of ‘vitamins’ she swallows.</p><p>Gerri frowns, tilts her head a certain way at him to tell him to shake it off as she lifts her wine glass to her mouth, and he focuses on how she looks in the off-shoulder top she’s wearing and how it feels to drift his lips over her collarbone, to suckle on her shoulder when she’s writhing beneath him and groaning in his ear.</p><p>He remembers she said yes.</p><p>And grins again, chuckles to himself, dips his head down to hide his smile.</p><p>Across the table he hears her suppress a giggle, looks up and catches her smile mirroring his, the glint in her blue, blue eyes. She presses her mouth together and he loves the shape of it, the heart-like purse of her lips as she tries to force herself not to reveal the extent of her happiness. He shakes his head at her, kicks his leg out beneath the table so it catches hers and the smile fills his face again. And then they laugh together to the bewilderment of the others sitting for dinner.</p><p><em>“I think we should keep it between us until we’ve told your father,”</em> she had said huskily in the boot room, pressed up against the coats hanging from hooks on the wall with his mouth repeatedly claiming hers and the smell of wax jackets, the dampness of their clothes and the sound of the children still yelling outside in the snow.</p><p><em>“Alright,”</em> he nods, squirreling his hands inside her jacket, up under her top because he needs to feel her skin. She shivers against the clammy coldness of his fingers skimming the lace of her bra. “<em>Face-to-face</em>,” he adds, which means they have at least a week of keeping it between them.</p><p>It’s like some wonderful bright secret he knows, not the dirty scummy kind so often floating around his family. But this is warming and delicate, something he wants to keep safe inside and tenderly care for. Nurture.</p><p>Gerri’s foot taps his ankle beneath the table and he pulls himself back into the moment, forced to focus on the inane conversation going on around him. He can make it through dinner, can make it through an evening of sharing her before they can hide in their room and really consummate their engagement. He longs to have her to himself, repeatedly thank her for giving him the world.</p><p>They leave for London before lunch the following day, fly out to Switzerland not long after and her thoughts of working disappear – she spends the entire flight in his lap, a wonderful mixture of kissing and talking and laughing freely without his mother around, telling herself she’ll open her laptop soon only they’re landing before she even notices the time has passed.</p><p>He was right about it being a palace in the snow, some paradise-like structure high in the mountain. She wanders off as the manager personally shows Roman around; can hear their chatter when she goes outside, standing out on the balcony, looping the shawl she’s wearing tight around her body – this is luxury, isolation and silence. The afternoon sun is just going down, the sky a warm glow of orange and his mother and the cold, creaky castle seems a lifetime ago.</p><p>There’s a fur covered lounger big enough for two beside her, another at the other side of the hot tub. She wanders the length of the balcony, trails her fingers through the snow along the handrail, and then glides her nails over the hot tub controls until it comes to life.</p><p>The snap of his camera startles her, and when she lifts her head her hair hangs half over her face, skin pale and fresh in the cool, clean air.</p><p>“Fuck,” he said, lowering the camera, “hi pretty lady.”</p><p>She pushed her hair back behind her ear, lips pursed, eyes shining.</p><p>“Don’t you need permission to take my photograph?”</p><p>He shrugged, licked his lips and watched as she slipped the shawl off and draped it over the chair.</p><p>“I’m unfamiliar with that particular law.”</p><p>A raised eyebrow at that, a slow opening of the buttons of her blouse as she peels it from her body. “Then refresh your understanding of it, a boy like you should know the law… inside and out.”</p><p>He smirks at her implication; his trousers pull that little bit tighter because she has been teasing him all day. Winding him up to this point. He is testing the waters when he lifts his camera again, surprised when she allows him to take a shot of her in the silk camisole. She only shakes her head, rolls her skirt down her legs, and within minutes she is naked and climbing into the hot tub.</p><p>“I believe I should like a glass of Champagne,” she instructs, arms spread along the edge, eyes closed.</p><p>“You’re quite the fucking lady,” he says softly, lifts his camera again but he has only just rested the pad of his finger against the screen when she snaps her fingers.</p><p>“Don’t go too far,” her voice is clipped, “Champagne.”</p><p>He too is naked when he returns with the bottle, handing it to her before he climbs in.</p><p>“No glass?”</p><p>“Waste of time,” he hops in, disappears beneath the water and re-emerges slicking his hair back, “This feels good.”</p><p>“Quite the aphrodisiac I think,” an innocent shrug as she glances around, “the crisp snow air, a hot tub, champagne. This entire place just for the two of us. Didn’t you tell me once you were shit at seduction?”</p><p>He found her foot beneath the water, lifted it up until her toes broke the surface and he could bend and nibble at them, “Shit at everything until you.” His thumbs worked into the pad of her foot and she dropped her head back, let out a contented sigh.</p><p>“I could grow used to this kind of treatment though.”</p><p>“Anytime.”</p><p>As the light turns from afternoon to early evening, he pulls her into his lap again, and she deliberately lets the alcohol spill over and down his neck, following it with her tongue, the lightest hum upon her lips as she touches him because time has taught her he appreciates the sounds she makes, laps them up and folds them away in his memory. Somehow, though they shouldn’t really mean so much, they make him feel wanted and there is no gift more precious, nothing more valuable she could give him.</p><p>“You know, you’re too much of an original for an ordinary life. Too beautiful, too smart for some schmuck working nine-to-five. You know that.” He is whispering as he kisses her face, the fingers of his left hand tripping up and down her spine, his other firm against her hip holding her secure against him.</p><p>“Maybe.” She pursed her lips, adjusted a little, knelt over him as she is with one knee either side of his legs. “Where’s this come from?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Some fat fuck with a small dick and little ambition.”</p><p>“I guess you’re the opposite of that in some ways,” she teased, “But I’m not… well…” she shrugged.</p><p>“What?” He was half-listening, half distracted by placing kisses along her collarbone. “You’re not what?”</p><p>“I’ve never been one for crowds, I don’t do that side of things all that well.” She arched her neck, leant back a little in his arms to give him better access. “Friends and shit. I try but I’m not, well, I’m not all that lively. Centre of attention. I prefer the boardroom to some party, I know my place there, can hold my own. Small talk is like some alien concept. I prefer being invisible, in the background.”</p><p>“You small talk me.”</p><p>“You’re different.”</p><p>“So, what you’re saying,” he started, then licked his tongue clean up her neck, feeling her swallow as he did so, “Is that this week with my family has been some form of fucking hell torture for you, right?”</p><p>He looked at her then and she brushed his hair back, flattening it under the dampness of her palm. “No more so than for you. But for different reasons. You are the life of a party, can be. I admire that, your ability to just…” she snapped her fingers, “turn it on.”</p><p>“Hmm, do I turn you on, hmm?” He jiggled her in his arms until her serious tone was forgotten and she was giggling again. “Sorry,” he mumbled against her chest, because despite his joking he was sorry she’d had to endure that week. “I take you to the nicest places yeah.”</p><p>“This is one of the nicest places, and it was fine, the week, I rather enjoyed being with you.”</p><p>“I can safely say you were the high point of the entire holiday season.”</p><p>Her eyebrows rose, “I was,” she smirked and readjusted in his lap again, wobbling deliberately as she sought a comfy spot.</p><p>“Stop shifting about. Distracting me.”</p><p>“Not doing it on purpose, believe me. You have to realise I’m not some twenty-something yoga whore. My balance isn’t great.”</p><p>He supported her back, guided her legs around his waist. “How ‘bout Roman’s whore, can you be that?”</p><p>“A-ha,” she nodded, “sure. Just what I’ve always dreamt of.”</p><p>He pressed his mouth against hers, suckled on her tongue until she moaned and the hum of it swam through his veins.</p><p>“I love all of you,” he drove his point home with a hand on her bottom as he pressed her against him.</p><p>“Surprising is it, to care for something other than yourself?”</p><p>He laughed, because there were too many things he wanted to say to her, things he couldn’t find words for – Roys weren’t made to feel this way and he hadn’t the language to express what she meant, nor to fully understand what she’d given him. So he laughed, because it was easier, and opted for a change in focus “This is pretty cool, right? This place.”</p><p>She smirked at the dodge, “It’ll do for a few days, I guess.”</p><p>“You deserve the best of everything,” He placed kisses to her chest, over her breasts. “Wanna go to dinner?”</p><p>“You don’t want me to yourself?”</p><p>“Yes. All of you. All of the time. But I also really want to take you to dinner, show you off.” He ran his hand down her arm to her hand, “I wish I’d kept the ring.”</p><p>She glared then, “You got rid of it?!”</p><p>“Nah, just tucked it away. Kept it safe for when I knew you’d cave.”</p><p>“I’m that predictable?”</p><p>“Writing was always on the wall. Old gal can’t keep her hands off me.”</p><p>She’d like to argue the point but his mouth is already on hers again and besides he’s right so she lets him have that one.</p><p>“I think you should delete those pictures before the week gets started,” she says.</p><p>“I think you should sit on the side of this hot tub and let me take a few more snaps.”</p><p>“Nobody wants to see my saggy nipples.”</p><p>“Believe me, I fucking do.”</p><p>“Pervert,” but she cups his face in her hands, presses a kiss to his forehead.</p><p>“I meant I wish I’d kept the ring with me, you’d wear it now…”</p><p>“Not if we’re gonna keep this private.”</p><p>He pouted. Sulked. And she drew her thumb nail across his lip, pressed on it until he sucked it into his mouth, eyes holding hers.</p><p>“Look at your fucking nails,” he laughed, and she held her hands in the air.</p><p>“Need to get a manicure here, see if they can save them.”</p><p>“Poor Soph.”</p><p>“She’s cute.” Gerri admitted.</p><p>He was surprised by her admission, figured she put up with the kid to keep his family onside. “She fucking loves you; you know she’ll want to be a bridesmaid.”</p><p>She shifted in his lap again, “Oh? Going to be that kind of wedding is it?”</p><p>“Fuck yeah, all of that shit. I want every bastard who’s ever laughed at me to stand there with their fucking jaws on the floor knowing I’m not that much of a waste of oxygen. I got you. Bunch of jealous pricks.”</p><p>“I feel so flattered,” she deadpanned, a hand pressing to her chest, “so glad I can assist your ego.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>“Hmm...”</p><p>“No showing off on your part?” He dug his fingers into her bottom again, “No need to have a kind of ‘Christ look at this young hot man I managed to bag at my age. Got his dick on speed dial too.’?”</p><p>“My god, you read my mind! Those are the exact words I repeat to myself daily when I do my make-up.” She shook her head at him, “Prick.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>She yelped in surprised when he stood up, her legs still wrapped around his waist, hands now clinging to his shoulders.</p><p>“I should take back that kind of talk, Ms Kellman.”</p><p>“Roman, stop it, asshole!” But she was laughing at the movement as he swung her around the hot tub, the ice in the air splintering against her wet skin. “It’s fucking freezing. Put me down.”</p><p>“I need an apology.”</p><p>“I don’t do apologies.”</p><p>“You’re gonna have to learn,” he insisted but then he deliberately dropped down again, submerging them both beneath the water until she came up spluttering and slapping her hands against his back.</p><p>“My hair!” She complained but she was laughing with him, playing with him, so unlike the Gerri of years before. “Fucker.”</p><p>“You gonna make an effort for dinner or go like that?”</p><p>She shot him a hardened look as she clambered out of the hot tub, “I’m going to shower – alone,” she added quickly, “– and then wear something fabulous and you better be on your best fucking behaviour and wine and dine me.”</p><p>He leant on the edge of the tub, arms folded, “Sorry. I forgot how precious your hair is. I mean to me as well as to you, let’s not forget my request, could be a possible wedding present, what you think?”</p><p>“If you’re suggesting what I think you are then a resounding no.”</p><p>“Spoilsport.” He pressed his hand to her hip. “Question – why buy me a camera if I’m not to take photos of my favourite subject?”</p><p>She smirked at that, draping her shawl around her body.</p><p>“It’s a fair question.” He stated smugly.</p><p>“It is a fair question,” she agreed, and left him with that.</p><hr/><p>Her throat is burning with the Tennessee whisky they’ve consumed, a fiery cinnamon afterglow. She was all over him in the elevator, couldn’t help herself, practically climbing his body as her mouth destroyed his. Then wobbling on three-inch heels down the corridor, that was also unlike her to wear shoes of that height, but she felt desirable that night when they come down for dinner, a simple black dress, hair tousled and curled, red lips. It was all classic, but sometimes the classics are the best. She noted how often he touched her across the table at dinner, how fixated his eyes were upon her, he was enraptured and she knew very well that her simple words of acceptance had somehow lifted him – there was great happiness that came with that, giving other people joy, but also considerable power.</p><p>So, she lets him undress her. Let’s him take the lead because if there’s something she’s known about Roman throughout his life it’s that he had very little self-belief, he ached for a dose of confidence building and it never seemed to come. She is more than happy to give him that.</p><p>She holds her arms up for him, lets him lift her dress clean up and over her head, watches amused as he folds it neatly and lays it on a chair.</p><p>“What a good little boy you are.”</p><p>“Well fucking trained,” he walks into her, backs her up to the bed.</p><p>“Such a mouth.” Her hands press against the flat plain of his stomach, peeling his shirt out from his trousers. “All bravado.”</p><p>“You’re drunk.”</p><p>“A-ha,” but her fingers are still sure and she quickly removes his shirt. “So, am I right? Mouth? Anything behind it?”</p><p>“Testing me hey,” he unbuckled his trousers, kicked them off, stood back to stare at her in her underwear, stockings on, shoes on. “How drunk are you?”</p><p>“For?”</p><p>“I mean this get up, this look, aching for me to fire off a few shots.”</p><p>“Normally I would indulge the fact you like to jerk off over me, these little idiosyncrasies keep it interesting.” She huffed, “But I would like a little attention tonight, not just a casual observer.”</p><p>“That’s so not what I meant.”</p><p>She sank down to the edge of the bed, realisation dawning, “No. I’m too old.”</p><p>“You look hot.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Come on, just think, ten years’ time, married to me, you can look back on the photos and think Christ I was hot then.”</p><p>She licked her lips, crossed her legs, swinging her foot in the air, “So in ten years’ time I won’t be hot?”</p><p>“Don’t try and fucking catch me out.”</p><p>“I’m getting bored, how long have I got to wait?”</p><p>“Gerri…”</p><p>“No. I said no. I’m not going to be anyone’s pin-up. I think I’ve sobered up.” She made a move as if to stand and instead he pressed his hand to her shoulder, the other tilting her chin until she looked at him.</p><p>“Christ, you don’t half play with me at times.”</p><p>There was the slightest hint of a smile at that, “It’s a long time,” she said, mouth twisting until she could nip at the side of his hand, “ten years.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he sank to his knees, leaning forward between her thighs, “think of all the bullshit you’ll have had to put up with by then. Fucking Christmases with my mother.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”</p><p>“Oh no,” he pressed his mouth to her chest, “no, no, no.” he mumbled, lips punctuating every word with another kiss. “It won’t be enough.” He said.</p><p>“What won’t? What else can I do but agree to marry you?” she tilted her head back, pushed her chest forward at his touch, his fingers easing her breast free from her bra, tongue circling her nipple until she sighed in that delicious way she had, soft, from the very back of her throat.</p><p>“Ten years. Twenty. Thirty. Never enough.”</p><p>She wanted to laugh at that, mock him for being some saccharine idiot – but her heart won’t let her and instead she reaches for his head, fingers roughly tugging at his hair as she tilts his head back and leans to kiss him, moaning all over again when he suckles on her bottom lip.</p><p>“I’ll be on my fiftieth face-lift if we make it to thirty years.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” He was fiddling with her underwear, fingers hooking into the lace as she lifted her bottom to allow him to slide her panties down her legs.</p><p>“Yeah.” Her hands were resting on his shoulders to balance as he kissed his way up her thighs. “Not to mention the amount of shit I’ll have had to have pumped into my skin, breast lifts, all that, to make sure you’re not turned off.”</p><p>He was grinning as looked up at her, “For an intelligent woman you talk shit at times.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispered, because his mouth was wet and his eyes were dark as he looked up at her, and there was this pounding heat between her legs that longed for his attentions and she couldn’t think of a smart comeback. She ruffled his hair again, “I’m mad about the boy,” she half-spoke-sang to him.</p><p>He turned his head, licked her palm, “Mad about you too. Mrs. Roy-to-be.”</p><p>“We might need to talk about that.”</p><p>He smirked as his head dipped down again, “I thought we might.”</p><p>“Because there are certain connotations that come with me taking your name…”</p><p>“U-huh.” His hands slid around to grip her bottom, lifting her so he could find the right angle, tongue pressing into her until her voice changed.</p><p>“…Like the er, you know… it could be a messy thing, oh god. Changing names, yours is so… Rome…”</p><p>“Shush.”</p><p>“Yes.” She flopped back, legs flying in the air as she did so, the heel of one of her shoes against his back as he worked his mouth on her, it was a sharp, pin-prick of pain that somehow contrasted wonderfully with the heady, yeast-warmth of her.</p><p>She came once, both her hands tight in his hair pressing him to her, and he didn’t mind at all. He would give her whatever she wanted, she deserved the world and he’d feed it to her one morsal at a time if he could, even if that meant putting up with her nails scraping his scalp.</p><p>She was still groaning her pleasure when he rocked back on his knees, held onto one of her shins and kissed his way back and forth along her leg.</p><p>“These are a fucking turn-on,” he said, fingers circling the heel of the satin shoe, “bad ass bitch.”</p><p>“Grey haired insurance brokers never ask me to keep my shoes on.” She shoots up from where she’s still lying across the bed and the words do as intended, he feels a stab of annoyance that some cretin from the city ever touched her.</p><p>“Maybe you just never gave them long enough to get to the point of asking.”</p><p>She looks up then, a half-smile, thick hair tousled and hanging over her face. “Maybe. You need to please me first time or there’s no comeback.”</p><p>“Glad I could be of service.” He slips her shoes off, sets them neatly beside the bed.</p><p>“You just keep getting better honey.”</p><p>“Glad I can be of service with that too.” He moves quickly, half standing as he yanks on her ankles and pulls her to him and she yelps in delighted surprise, grasping at the bed sheets.</p><p>“You need to warn me when there’s going to be sudden movement.”</p><p>He lay over her, covered her body, “No surprise in that. And don’t do anything to this face, I love it just the way it is.” His hand slid down to cup her breast, “And these too. Perfect as they are.”</p><p>“That’s the point. I want to keep them that way.”</p><p>“I love every inch of your body,” he muttered as he made a point of kissing of her as much of her as he could reach, sliding back down her body, between her legs, knees hitting the rug at the side of the bed as he teased and tickled the bottom of her feet.</p><p>She was giggling, pushing her toes into his face, “Stop that, I’m too ticklish.”</p><p>“Noticing.”</p><p>He moved to his feet again, leant forward, knees pressed into the side of the mattress as his hands held her legs, lifting them, kissing his way along her calves instead. “How flexible are you?”</p><p>“In relation to…?” But her face was amused, cheeks pink and flushed with excitement. She pressed her feet into his stomach, and he rebalanced himself, nibbled her toes, lifted her foot so he could kiss her ankle, circling the delicate skin there with his tongue.</p><p>She closed her eyes at the sensation; there had never been a time where a man had paid such attention to her. When she was young first times were clumsy affairs, often rushed and fuelled by drink. There had been passion with Baird at the start, the headiness of bagging a man like him, but she was younger then, less aware of what she liked. And as their years together had gone on and children had come sex was something you fit in around other things. This was a new world. Having the time, patience and inner-knowledge to explore.</p><p>It occurred to her Roman must have licked or kissed or suckled on every inch of her skin at some point over the preceding two years, and she still felt her stomach flutter when he touched her.</p><p>She gasped when he moved her again, lifting her legs perpendicular against his body, feet by his neck, and he pressed against her, she felt the muscles in her thighs stretch and complain at the movement, but there was excitement there too, because they hadn’t tried this position before and that sex could still be surprising when she was approaching her sixtieth year was wonderful.</p><p>“Oh god,” she groaned, eyes momentarily closing as his erection pressed against her – he was teasing, focussed more on kissing her knees than the fact he was resting against her and she could already feel the throbbing heat of him. He smiled down at her, and there was a confidence there she wasn’t sure had been there only a year before, but then she didn’t like to think of where they were a year before, of how he’d left and she’d woken in the night wet and desperate for his touch.</p><p>“Rome…” she breathed out, “stop…”</p><p>“Stop?” he questioned, slid his penis only slightly inside her, “stop what?”</p><p>“Making me wait.”</p><p>“You do feel rather slick,” he moved an inch more and she groaned loudly, her throat closing up as she did so.</p><p>He leant forward, rested his knees on the bed again to support his movements as he filled her. Stopped and stilled so he could appreciate the sight of her lying there before him, the feel of her surrounding him. “Christ Gerri, I really –,”</p><p>“I know,” she interrupted, her hands resting on his legs as he moved back and forth, slowly inching, finding his way, finding the rhythm. But she was silky smooth and somehow it felt tighter like this and the whole sensation of it heady and soon he was pounding into her, filling the empty bedroom with her name.</p><p>Her hips loosened to the movement, and she did her best to meet his thrusts, pushing her pelvis down to his, fingers curling into the bedsheets. He slipped back again, stood, some guttural sound coming from him as he did, lifting her legs again, holding each one by the ankle, no rhythm now, just the hungry frantic movements of two bodies desperate for the other.</p><p>He comes first, shouting her name to the heavens, and it isn’t until she’s coming down from her own high that she realises his thumb nail is digging into the skin of her ankle.</p><p>“You left a mark,” she tells him later, when she’s coming out of the bathroom on wobbly legs.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>She propped her foot on the bed and he sat forward, leaning over to where her fingertip pointed out the tiny nail imprint.</p><p>“Baby,” he cooed, kissing the mark.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s a small price to pay for the pleasure of coming like that.”</p><p>He drummed his fingers against her toes feeling smug, “Perhaps.”</p><p>She clambered over him and beneath the sheets, nuzzling nicely against his side. “So, you never told me you have a foot thing.”</p><p>“I didn’t know I did.”</p><p>“You paid extra attention to my feet tonight, and legs. Ankles.” She yawned, wondered how many hours they’d been up now.</p><p>“I can’t say I ever thought of your feet before in that way.”</p><p>“Mmm, I’m not complaining. I’ll be sure to stay on top of my pedicures now though.” She pressed her mouth to his chest, fingers tickling over his nipple. “You don’t mind if I disappear to the rather glorious spa here a few times, get my nails fixed,” she rolled over until her chin was resting on his chest and he was looking at her in the dim, dark room. “Facial. Casual boob lift.”</p><p>He smiled, shook his head, “Course. You’ll ski tomorrow though with me, won’t you?”</p><p>“A-ha, remember though, been a while, don’t rush. I might need a moment to catch up.”</p><p>“Promise.”</p><p>Roman watched as she kissed him, her mouth moving over his chest, down to his stomach, sighing happily as she did so and then coming back up to find his mouth. She kissed him for the longest, sweetest time, warm and full in his arms.</p><p>“My body misses yours now, when we’re apart,” he admitted in the darkness, because that made it easier to admit.</p><p>“Not that it happens often these days, the odd business trip, the odd weekend.”</p><p>He squeezed her to him, “Still.” And kissed her head as she lay against him. “Nice to feel free again, unwatched.”</p><p>“I did rather worry your mother might have bugged the room.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t put it past her, revealing the details of my new foot fetish over dinner.”</p><p>She should have laughed at that, only she didn’t, and then he wished he hadn’t said it because she glanced up at him seriously and he didn’t want to have that conversation.</p><p>“You wanna talk about that?”</p><p>“Why I’m a fucking freak? Er, no thanks.”</p><p>She shifted her body, plumped her pillow and turned completely so she was facing him, a hand tucked beneath her cheek. “You’re not a freak.”</p><p>“The world would think so.”</p><p>“The world doesn’t know.” She bided her time, breathed softly, one hand on his chest, fingers gently stroking his skin. “I’m guessing you’ve got a theory as to why.”</p><p>“Million fucking dollars spent asking that question,” he looked at the ceiling, away from her gaze, though his hand was still on her arm, cupping her elbow as she rested against him. “Emotional attachment issues, intimacy issues, all that grey-water-shit they feed you which means nothing.”</p><p>“Maybe,” she shrugged, pressed her forehead against his arm so he was breathing in the scent of her hair. “Hardly surprising, given –,”</p><p>“Childhood, yeah, answer to everything.”</p><p>“Alright.” She said plainly, because if he didn’t want to talk about it she certainly wasn’t going to push the issue and she was too tired to put much energy into pursuing something he didn’t want to share.</p><p>He huffed again, “Sorry,” he added slowly, “not your fault.”</p><p>“You wanna know what I think?” She tilted her head, looked up at him, saw his head move in the darkness, the flash of his eyes as he looked down toward her, the outline of his face. “Judgement. You’ve been told since you were what – five –,”</p><p>“Birth!”</p><p>“– that you’re the spare, the weakling…” she paused, “not Kendall.” She watched him swallow at that but he was silent as he listened to her. “Everything you did was judged, <em>you’re not as smart, not as sharp, not as quick as either of them</em>. Didn’t you tell me your mother said you were the mistake?”</p><p>He nodded brusquely, and the air around them felt charged and full of possibility.</p><p>“You fear being judged, Roman. Being told you’re nothing. And sex is just another one of those things, so if they’re… ‘dead’, or playing dead, excuse me, then they can’t judge your performance because they aren’t really there, right. And Tabitha, well, she was the ultimate selection – somebody whose sexual knowledge and experiences are vast, somebody on your arm to fool the world that you too are sexually adventurous and knowledgeable. To fool your father… Only the truth is you couldn’t possibly hope to perform with her because she of all people would be the ultimate judge.”</p><p>“I never even had sex with her. Only fooling about, never, you know.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Fucking loser.”</p><p>“No,” her voice was soft, enveloping. “Remember that night you first called me, you said later it had been a failed attempt with her.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Cos you couldn’t what, live up to her expectations of phone sex? Because you couldn’t please her?”</p><p>“Yeah, but you didn’t want to be pleased.”</p><p>“I was rather caught off guard.” She smiled, re-playing the memory of those emotions, “Amused.”</p><p>“You just… played along.”</p><p>“I didn’t judge.”</p><p>“I’m such a selfish cunt,” he said stroking her arm.</p><p>“Not now, maybe then, but certainly not now.”  Because that was how love was; at the start it's maybe chemistry, maybe attraction, but its the time spent that turns to love, the hours paying attention to the other.</p><p>He turned then, arm sliding over her hip, hand pressing into the dip of her back to press her to him. “I can’t…” he started, then stopped himself, burying his face in her shoulder, kissing her neck. “I don’t get excited about anyone but you,” he mumbled, as if embarrassed to admit these things he’d usually bury. “Like, you turn me on and nobody else ever has.”</p><p>She shifted her hand out from between their bodies, tilted his chin, “Which makes me feel incredibly powerful for an old woman.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he smiled. “What did Shiv say, you’ve got me under some weird sexual spell?”</p><p>“I would have been labelled a witch at one time. Burned at the stake.”</p><p>He rolled her onto her back, leaning over her. “I wouldn’t let them.”</p><p>“They’d likely burn you too. Freak.”</p><p>“You see, always flirting with me,” he teased, nuzzling her neck then settling against her, enjoying the softness of her, the way she wound her arms around him and held him. “Won’t matter, doesn’t matter, does it?”</p><p>“Your past?” She squeezed his backside, her nails just lightly scratching his flesh. “Only the seconds spent with me matter.”</p><p>“Every second with you are the best seconds of my day, is that a bit Hallmark-y to say?”</p><p>“Yes. Sad bastard.”</p><p>He smirked at that; she could feel his mouth moving against her shoulder blade.</p><p>“I feel safe,” he whispered and she closed her eyes, resisted saying ‘me too.’</p><p>“You’re going to sleep there?” she asked instead, and his mumbled hum of response told her ‘yes’.</p><hr/><p>Any semblance of power or sexual-prowess quickly disappears when she falls on her ass the next day. It’s an immediate and unexpected thud as she simply slips backwards, momentarily loses her balance and topples and bump, she’s down. She’s dazed for a moment, and he’s laughing, because that’s Roman, but his hand is held out and she grips it, lets him help her to her feet.</p><p>“That’s a bruise I might need to kiss better.” He teases, leaning in close to her face. “You okay, wanna quit now?”</p><p>“Not at all,” she insists, because she’s stubborn and awkward and they manage a couple more hours on the slopes before heading back for lunch.</p><p>She won’t tell him she’s feeling sore, leaves him on his phone dealing with some shit as she showers and changes, and thinks about the fact her thighs still ached anyway from the sex and now her ass hurts too and her hips.</p><p>“You wanna go out again this afternoon?” he’s perched on the side as she works the coffee machine, picking at the fruit plate. “Apparently a storm could blow in, we might not get a full week out there.”</p><p>She briefly touches his knee, “You go,” hands him his coffee. “I can entertain myself, believe me.”</p><p>“You mean work?”</p><p>“It’s part of my make-up,” she shrugs, cradling her mug. “I’d rather you go have fun. I’ll be fine, used to my own company.”</p><p>“Not selfish?”</p><p>“We both are but that works,” she kisses his cheek, “I might make it to the spa, if you’re gone a while. What crazy things have you booked?”</p><p>“Not too much,” he sliced a strawberry in half between his teeth, “don’t wanna risk damaging the face before the wedding photos.”</p><p>“Oh well no, of course not.” Her hand is on his leg and she stares at it for a moment, wonders if it’s the cold that makes her skin seem that bit more blemished – she can remember holding her Gran’s hand, the tissue-paper skin of her almost translucent and she has this awful realisation for one tiny moment that at some point this is how Roman might see her.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” she shrugged, looking up at him, “just thinking how full of energy you are, still young, vitality, all that stuff.”</p><p>“Hmm, well, suck it up,” he kissed her head, dropped down from the side, “You wanna go to the restaurant tonight or eat here?” He asks, fiddling on his phone. “Restaurant? Maybe a dance?”</p><p>She screwed her mouth up, her back to him, “Sure. I’ll wear lower heels.”</p><p>He pressed himself against her bottom then, pinning her to the side, “I enjoyed those shoes.”</p><p>“I know.” She felt him grind up against her, needy, still so full of energy and want. “Go,” she instructed, pushing back against him. “Go have fun. Give me a few hours peace.”</p><p>“Ouch.”</p><p>She turned at that, patted his shoulders, “Be a good little puppy.”</p><p>“Bitch,” but he kissed her, smiled, wandered off on his merry way.</p><hr/><p>She wakes in the early hours needing to pee, has only just turned to ease herself out of bed without waking Roman when the pain hits, shooting up her spine like a hot poker. She grimaces as her feet touch the carpet, presses a hand to the bedside table to help her stand and pushes on through to take a step and move into the bathroom. Every muscle complains at the physical movement, and when she collapses back onto the bed minutes later she groans in relief and drags the sheets back over her naked body.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Roman mumbled, turning to her, a warm hand stretching out over her belly.</p><p>She was tired, her brain fuzzy with sleep, and she leant back into him, turning her head so her face touched his. “I hurt myself,” she half said, half sobbed, in a dramatic fashion.</p><p>“When you fell?” His hand tightened on her, voice lifting.</p><p>“Yes,” she relaxed a little then, admitting it seemed to open up something, being able to admit certain things.</p><p>“Why didn’t you say?” He sounded awake now, was leaning up and gazing down at her in the faded-light offered from the window.</p><p>“Because I’m old and you’re young and fit –,”</p><p>“Babe,” he interrupted.</p><p>“And I don’t want to be a burden, I want to keep up with you.” Her voice had taken on a whiny, childish quality, playing with it because it somehow softened the admittance of certain things.</p><p>“Baby,” he kissed her head repeatedly, playing, because he had no real idea what it meant for your body to fail you, to not be able to do the things you once did easily. “Where’s it hurt?”</p><p>“Don’t take the piss,” she said, and then, “Every possible muscle… My hips, knees, mostly.”</p><p>“We didn’t have to come here. We could’ve done something else.” And he seemed genuinely concerned, genuinely worried.</p><p>“I like skiing, I’ve never been brilliant at it because my balance is shit, I’m too short, but I’ve always liked it. I guess it’s been a while.” She flexed her fingers against the side of his face. “And you wanted to come.”</p><p>“But I’d go anywhere with you.”</p><p>She smiled at that, “How’d you turn out so sweet, beneath it all, despite it all?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Didn’t realise I was.”</p><p>“Liar.” She kissed his mouth, feeling surprisingly tender – he’d grown up with two cold, detached parents. Had been sent to military school to dampen his need for attention. And yet somehow this wonderful, kind man had found his way to the surface and into her life. “You’re sweet to me.”</p><p>“Mmm, only to get this.” His mouth was growing insistent against hers, a hand slipping over her skin, up her torso to cup her breast as his tongue stroked hers.</p><p>“Honey,” she breathed against his lips, “don’t get any ideas, I ache too much.”</p><p>“You don’t need to do anything, just lie there and let me climb on top.”</p><p>He delighted in the sound of her laughter, the feel of her hand slapping his back as her face buried into the side of his neck, shoulders shaking.</p><p>“Ohhh… you make me laugh,” she mumbled, kissing his shoulder.</p><p>“Good,” he brushed her hair back, stared down at her, “I like that.”</p><p>“Mmm.” She hummed warmly, eyes closing as she curled up to his body.</p><p>“You want some painkillers?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>She envied the easy way he got out of bed, his quick movements. She shifted back on the pillows, pushed herself up a little as he handed her a bottle of water and two pills. He was settled back behind her by the time she’d finished drinking; she laid down, pulled the top blanket up over her arms and pushed her bottom out because somehow that eased the pressure on her lower back. He felt warm behind her, neatly tucked up against her and fitting so easily.</p><p>“Don’t feel bad about going out again tomorrow without me,” she whispered into the dark.</p><p>“A-ha,” his voice sounded heavy.</p><p>“I won’t mind,” she continued, fussing with the top sheet that was somehow tangled over her shoulder, half of it flapping onto her face as she spoke. “I can find things to do.”</p><p>“Make use of the masseuse,” he said.</p><p>“Yeah. That.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Mmm…”</p><p>“Rome. I’m sorry I’m such a burden.”</p><p>“Stop chatting,” he pressed his mouth to her shoulder, “it’s late.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she closed her eyes, could feel his breath on her skin, a slight dampness to her shoulder where he’d pressed his lips. “You know these kinds of things will get worse, more pronounced. As I age, I mean. You taking care of me.”</p><p>He squeezed her waist, seemed to hold her tighter.</p><p>She was fussing with the sheet again, couldn’t work out how to flatten it “Because I can’t last forever. My old bones and my aching hips and my lack of energy.”</p><p>“Gerri –,”</p><p>“I’m just being honest, the realities…”</p><p>“What the fuck are you fussing with?” He complained, lifted his head.</p><p>“I can’t work this thing out, there’s three of them.” She huffed, “I can’t get comfy.”</p><p>He threw the sheets back, climbed out of bed and came around the other side, lifting the top sheet back and folding it halfway down the bed. “Shift your arm.”</p><p>“Bossy.”</p><p>But she did as he asked, and he got in beside her, laid back, pulled her head to his chest and folded the other sheet over her shoulder until she snuggled against him.</p><p>“Better?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good. And stop talking shit.”</p><p>“I wasn’t, I was…”</p><p>“What? Trying to get me to change my mind?”</p><p>She smiled against his skin, felt his hand curl around her fingers. “No. Being realistic.”</p><p>“Yeah well, I ain’t all that fit when it comes down to it, I eat crap for a start.” He kissed her head, closed his eyes and enjoyed the scent of her hair filling his face. “And I’ll pay anything, take you anywhere, to make sure you last forever.”</p><p>She smirked at that, “Replace my bones with new ones.”</p><p>“Yeah. adamantium ones.”</p><p>“That’s very specific.”</p><p>He chuckled then, pressing his mouth repeatedly into her hair as he kissed her, “Wolverine.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, don’t worry.”</p><p>“You know this is a serious topic. Getting married isn’t just about a wedding and –,”</p><p>“Ger, come on, it’s the middle of the night.”</p><p>“Yes, but this is on my mind,” she admitted. She opened her eyes, blinked into the darkness of the room. Closed them again, focussed on the feel of him beneath her, the steady thrum of his heart, the scent of his skin. The way it felt to have his arms around her and his hands on her. She didn’t want to become annoying, a nag, a downer.</p><p>“I’m not dumb,” he finally said. “I know this shit will be important. But not now, yeah, like just enjoy being together and engaged. I’m not stupid,” he said again. “I want a life with you, yeah, moments like being in that pub at Christmas having fun, our brunch Sundays. That’s what I want marriage for, to feel I have someone on my side.”</p><p>“Yes,” she whispered, thinking of the first time she did it and the colossal mess she made at times. “Only, maybe I’m not very good at being a wife.”</p><p>“Maybe you weren’t<em> then</em>. But maybe it’ll be different, huh?”</p><p>“It is different,” she interrupted, because she was different with him. Age had changed her, potentially rounded some of her harsher edges, and he certainly wasn’t Baird.</p><p>“You changed your mind already?” he asked abruptly.</p><p>“No. Not in any way.” She twisted a little, lifted her face back so she could see the outline of his. “Just want you to be sure. Prepared.”</p><p>“I am sure.”</p><p>“But really, I mean, sure, because this is a big. You know, it’s a really big. I don’t want to do all this and then two years down the line its divorce and –,”</p><p>“Christ alive.” He sounded exasperated.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“We’ve been engaged what, two days? Fuck sake, why the hell do you worry so much about stuff?”</p><p>She felt attacked at that, “I’m an adult. We worry.”</p><p>“What am I a fucking kindergartener?”</p><p>“Yes, frankly, most of the time.”</p><p>She could see the flicker of his eyes, felt his fingers squeeze the flesh of her hip and she regretted being cruel then, “Go to fucking sleep.” He said.</p><p>“Rome…” She curled her fingers up in his hair, was close to his face as she whispered, “I just need you to be sure, to have really thought of every angle.”</p><p>“You sound needy.”</p><p>“I’m not that type of woman.”</p><p>“No, you’re not. Except at three in the morning, that’s when you’re likely to be soft with me, that’s when you use the L word or tell me how you feel. I figure your defences must come down around then.”</p><p>She screwed her mouth up at that, twisted it to one side, torn between being angry and wanting to defend herself and melting – because maybe, quite possibly, he was right. The words she’d usually use to bite back in a situation like this wouldn’t come, so she found herself quiet, and for long awkward seconds they lay like that, facing each other, close but silent.</p><p>“Look,” he finally said, “if you don’t want to do this.”</p><p>“Of course I do, I said yes.”</p><p>“I’m beginning to wonder why.” He stopped, seemed to really think. “Why Gerri, why yes, why now – after all my months of asking?”</p><p>“Because,” she could feel his body warm under hers, his hand still on her hip. “Because nobody ever made me feel this way.” It felt freeing saying the words, easier somehow in the dark when he was angry with her. “Because that moment out there in the snow, watching you with those kids and I just thought,” she breathed deeply, “I just thought there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Nobody I’d rather be with.”</p><p>He was quiet at that, she could almost hear his brain turning over the words, reflecting on what it meant.</p><p>“Right then. So. Go to sleep.”</p><p>She smiled at that, eyebrows momentarily rising before she pressed her head to his shoulder, felt his arms wind tight around her, his mouth brushing her hair. “You must be right about the three-a.m. thing.”</p><p>“Course I’m fucking right.” He tucked his chin against her neck, breathed her in. “Never been surer,” he added softly.</p><hr/><p>They’re invited to an exclusive New Year’s Eve party, the guests of Diego and Ela Aponte, and she wears the most fabulous white dress, a long flowing gold cape over the top, and he watches her glittering and shining against the dark sky as she follows the other guests outside for the obligatory midnight fireworks. She interacts so easily, can hold a conversation with anyone, talk of art and literature as if she consumes it daily. And he stands around like some pleb who’s been mis-invited. His face fits – he’s a Roy, he’s a fellow billionaire, though his wealth seems of little importance when he can’t even manage to relax in their company. And yet somehow he feels knowledgeable, knows she hates this, simply plays the game because she has to.</p><p>She carried them through dinner, had her hand on his leg most of the night beneath the table, as if she could read his feelings, nerves, through stealth. She drums her nails against his knee, leans in close to him whenever her hand shifts so her arm touches his instead. He appreciated that, knew what it meant. Their first time out together at something like this, on a world stage, he knows it means the scrutiny will start soon enough. These are closed-ranked events, the elite don’t spill secrets, but the fact they’re official now – the fact soon they’ll be announcing their engagement – doesn’t pass him by as he watches the fellow guests weigh them up. She makes him dance, and he can lose himself in that, when the ballroom is dark and full of bodies.</p><p>He knocks back another glass of champagne, deposits it on some stone pillar as he follows outside, shivering in the frozen air, wondering how she copes in a shoulder-less dress and shawl.</p><p>There is noise around him, the scent of wealth, and he loses sight of her then as the crowds gather. He half listens to Diego’s speech, some bullshit about family and friendships, his children, the success of the business he’s inherited – this niggling little worm of a feeling in his stomach as Roman takes it all in and realises what he’ll never be.</p><p>He tilts his head back to take in the sight of the fireworks as the first lot rip open the sky. Can feel the stretch in his neck, the pull of muscle, maybe he’s overdone it on the slopes the past few days. Gerri has joined once or twice but he’s been out on the snowboard, heli-skiing (which she tried to talk him out of more than once) and she absolutely drew the line at speed flying. He figured when he came skiing with friends again he’d give it a try when she wasn’t there to worry. Or chastise. Or both.</p><p>“Hi honey,” her voice unfolds by his ear like molten chocolate, and he can feel her warm hand sliding into his. “Do we say Happy New Year now?”</p><p>He takes his time shifting his gaze from the fireworks to her face, can feel her press up close against him. With other women, other girlfriends, he would have hated that, a public show of affection, a sign of being owned by someone. But with her it makes him feel like a king.</p><p>“You disappeared.” He states.</p><p>“Was tracking the other single wealthy men, wondering if I should make an exchange.” She teased, and her eyes sparkle despite the dark and the cold.</p><p>“The hell with that,” he drew his arms around her, “and yeah, we do. Happy fucking new year, you sexy motherfucker.”</p><p>She is laughing when he presses his lips to hers, then moans something as his tongue touches hers, body so tight against his he can feel her nipples through his shirt.</p><p>“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” She said, fiddling with his collar, the odd furtive glance to his face.</p><p>He backs her away slightly, back to the stone columns by the entrance, kisses her again there, feels the slightest twinge between his legs and she smiles against his lips, pats his arm.</p><p>“Not here.”</p><p>Above them the fireworks explode and she looks up, watches the colours ribbon across the sky.</p><p>“This,” he says softly, tracing the shape of her jawline with his finger, “I mean he’s taken over as CEO so easily from his father, has stepped up, everything smooth, the transition. Is running this fucking successful historical business –,”</p><p>“And you think you can’t do that?”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ll get the chance.”</p><p>“Okay,” her hands are flat against his chest and he stares down at them.</p><p>“I’m not sure I want it,” he admitted. “I feel so fucked up right now.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said more softly, but it worried her, when he spoke like that. “I mean, there’s a lot going on, a lot has happened, getting engaged is a big thing, talking of marriage and I mean, I’m on the verge of being a grandmother, and this idea of yours for the three of you to run it together. I get it. But it’s all, these are all big things.”</p><p>“Not you,” he said earnestly, “you’re never the problem. You’re the bright bit in the seemingly endless dumping ground of my mind.”</p><p>He jerked his chin over the crowd, “But this isn’t me, I can never be him, fit this world. I fucking try, Gerri, but I’m just…” He raked his hand through his hair. “Jesus, coming here just reminds me of how useless I am.”</p><p>For some reason she thought back to Argestes, at watching him on that balcony. How young he looked, how alone, despondent and lost. And her heart had done something then, unexpectedly, because she should have given him a metaphorical kick, told him to sort himself out and mix, form alliances, set up deals. Instead she felt sorry for the little lost boy he appeared to be, wanting so to be a part of it all, instead on the very edges – even more so than Tom, and nobody deserved that.</p><p>She held his hands, moved her face close to his, “Shh, you aren’t, you really aren’t. None of this matters, this is just a game, all of these people, it’s all just a game. An act. It’s not their real lives.”</p><p>“The only real thing in my life is you, our moments alone together, you know.” He paused, licked his lips as his eyes darted over her face, “That’s what’s real to me, your bed, your arms, I can do that. I think…” he gave her a small smile, “I think I’m doing alright at this, with you, like I’m getting this right.”</p><p>“I’ll allow you that triumph, yes,” she touched his mouth with hers, whispered, “do you want to go?”</p><p>“I feel like that’d be fucking up my role too. It’s like midnight, new year, we should be partying til 3 then snort something in the hotel and pass out.”</p><p>“If that’s what you want to do then I’m here for it,” she shrugged, “we can do another hour, you can dance with me again if you like?”</p><p>“I like it when you flirt.”</p><p>“I never flirt. I’ve never had to.”</p><p>“Ahh, but you flirt with me.”</p><p>“Do I? I don’t think I do.”</p><p>He nudged her nose with his, “Don’t stop flirting, not that you ever do it, right. But like just don’t stop doing it.”</p><p>She smiled at that, could hear the crowd cheering behind her as the display came to an end.</p><p>“Let’s go get another drink. Hide in a corner.”</p><p>“Mm,” she pressed her hands against his shirt, the tips of her fingers just curling into the material. “I think maybe you should try mixing with a few people, I could introduce –,”</p><p>He rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Now is the time, when they’re all nicely soaked.” She moved her palms a little lower, her face closer to his. “Pick up a few names, be your wonderful unforgettable self.”</p><p>“You’re fucking good at this.”</p><p>She shrugged, “Why thank you,” and kissed his cheek, “come on then, husband to be. Let me show you off.”</p><hr/><p>It was almost four by the time they returned to the chalet, stumbling from car to room, she vaguely remembers tripping out of her dress with Roman’s help, but when she wakes the following day she’s still wearing her bra and stockings. She slips out of the bed, rolls them down her legs in the bathroom and balls them into the bin before peeing, brushing her teeth, washing her face and returning to bed. Roman has hardly even stirred, and as she curls up against him to warm he lifts his arm and wraps it around her; they sleep until the afternoon.</p><p>“This is fucking ridiculous,” Roman whined throwing his cards down. “That’s another hundred for madam.” He threw the money down on top of his folded cards.</p><p>“You’re such a baby,” she added the money to her growing pile and scooped up the cards to shuffle again. “You don’t use your brain.”</p><p>“In so many fucking ways,” he moved closer to the fire, poked at it, “you think they come restack this thing?”</p><p>“If we ask.”</p><p>“You want to order food soon?”</p><p>“Yes, another game first.” She started dealing and he groaned. “Don’t complain, come on, look the issue is you just play as you go.”</p><p>“As oppose to?” He flopped onto his belly, dragged one of the cushions beneath his chest and kicked his legs out behind him.</p><p>“Thinking ahead. Always know your next move, where you’re going, strategy. It’s the way to play any game.”</p><p>He arched an eyebrow at that, “You play every game the same?”</p><p>“Yes. Pick up your cards.”</p><p>He did so, “And me? You play the game with me using strategy?”</p><p>She moved on the rug they were sitting on, pulled one of the blankets over her bare legs. “Are you a game?” She glared over her glasses.</p><p>He pulled a face, “Am I?”</p><p>“Well, if you are, I clearly played it very well.”</p><p>He laughed at that and watched as she set down her first card.</p><p>“So, do you already have a plan?” He asked watching, fanning out his own cards in his hand.</p><p>“For the cards?”</p><p>“Yeah… what else?”</p><p>Her mouth twitched slightly, “Yes, I think I know where I’m going.”</p><p>“Can you explain how?”</p><p>“But then I’d lose.”</p><p>He picked up another hundred, pushed it across to her. “I’ll pay up front.”</p><p>“Rather defeats the object of the game.”</p><p>“Yeah, but then you can have it all anyhow.”</p><p>She smirked at that, stretched her legs beside his head and he tilted his face to kiss her shin.</p><p>“Play your next card,” she said, “as you would.”</p><p>He did.</p><p>“Now, where would go next? Have you considered my next move?”</p><p>He pulled a face again and she laughed at his dopey-eyed expression.</p><p>“Such a baby,” she squeezed his chin, “show me your cards.”</p><p>He laid them down without a fuss, and she did the same with hers, setting them across from his. “Now, I would go here next,” she said, pushing forward a card. “And then I predict you’d do that, I’d do that, and so on. The difference is I’ve already decided what my last three cards will be. I want to force you to play this,” she tapped on a card, “or this. I’m going to try and manipulate you into it.”</p><p>“Okay.” He turned onto his back, looking up at her, “I like being manipulated by you.”</p><p>She shook her head, “You aren’t paying attention.”</p><p>“I’m paying attention to something.” He reached into his pocket, pressed a small box onto his chest.</p><p>She forgot the game then, lips pursed together as she stared at him.</p><p>“It was in a safe in New York, I got it here.” He said nonchalantly.</p><p>“Rome, we’ll be going home in a few days.”</p><p>“I wanted you to have it now. You want it?”</p><p>“Hmm,” she shifted her position, mirrored his posture, her head by his. “What does it mean?”</p><p>“It means you’re gonna have to put up with my insecure, whiny bullshit nature for life. The fact I walk around the apartment naked with my little dick hanging out. I struggle with the fine details of stuff. Have zero patience. A penchant for being belittled and will hang on your every fucking word from here to eternity and worship every inch of ground you walk on. Because you’re perfect.”</p><p>“Am I?” She was touching his hair, rested her chin on his forehead. “Not small. Medium maybe.”</p><p>He grinned at that, “See, changed my fucking life all over again.”</p><p>She reached down over his chest and took hold of the box, flipping it open and the wonderful yellow diamond smiled back. “Bigger than I remember.”</p><p>“Not medium too?”</p><p>“Very, very large.”</p><p>He took it from her, flipped his body over quickly and got onto his knees, “But you’re happy with other medium things, for life, I mean?”</p><p>She laughed loudly at that and held out her hand, “Very, very happy with that too.”</p><p>“Perfect fit,” he quipped, sliding the ring onto her finger and kissing her fingertips.</p><p>“That’s it now,” she whispered, “You won’t ever get it back.”</p><p>“Good,” he kissed her hand again, “as with all things, you can keep it all.”</p><p>Her smile made her cheeks ache, and she leant up to kiss him, holding onto his body as he leant over her.</p><p>“Champagne I think,” he said, “seal the deal. And oysters, lobster, caviar – have ourselves a little carpet feast here.”</p><p>“Like the rich assholes we are.”</p><p>“Truth.”</p><hr/><p>“So, if things were different, you know, I was your first husband or –,”</p><p>She let out a squeal of delight at that, either because he’d caught her off guard with the comment or because she was already drunk, either way she responded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, you’ll be my <em>second</em> husband. I can be one of those bitches who introduces you that way – This is my <em>second</em> husband.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Is this part of the marry and kill regime again?”</p><p>“Black widow. And then by the time I reach my fifth husband I’ll have reached the ranks of Gabor and Taylor in infamy.”</p><p>He tickled her waist, “There will be no fucking fifth husband, nor third, unless you’re just gonna keep re-marrying me over and over again.”</p><p>“How decadent that would be.” She ignored his hold on her, after all teasing him was endlessly fun, and instead reached to the tray of food. “I’m not usually a fan of oysters, but these are rather nice.”</p><p>“Here, lobster,” he fed some to her, enjoyed how she licked the ends of his fingers.</p><p>“You see, that’s tastes better than normal too.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s the setting, or new year, shift of things.”</p><p>“That’s rather a big statement for a little puppy to make.” She licked her own fingers, reached for a napkin. “What are you thinking?”</p><p>“Just, you know, stuff,” he got to his feet, refilled their champagne glasses.</p><p>“I like how you use the noun ‘stuff’ there, all encompassing. Care to share?”</p><p>“And you open up like a fucking flower, reveal your inner thoughts so easily.”</p><p>She pulled a face, tilted her head to one side to regard him, “More to you than to most. Or anyone.”</p><p>“Unless it’s three in the morning,” he reminded her, and sank back three quarters of the glass in one go. “Been lonely most of my life, in one way or another,” he admitted. “Even when I’m sitting round those family dinner tables, maybe especially then, you know, somehow.”</p><p>She gave a slight nod, because she did know, she could remember long weekends at the beach with her husband and children where she felt she was the one on the outside, the one looking in – a guest in her own family.</p><p>“Not now.” He said, sitting across from her again, cross-legged in front of the fire. “Even when I’m away from you, I’m never lonely, because I know I’ve still got you. That make sense?”</p><p>She nodded, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.</p><p>“You think I’m a sad bastard?”</p><p>She shrugged, “Potentially.”</p><p>“Still keeping that ring?”</p><p>She arched her eyebrows, sipped her champagne.</p><p>“Come here.” He made a move closer to her.</p><p>She lifted her foot, prodded him in the chest with it to halt his movements, he nibbled at her toes, watched amused as she lifted his sweatshirt up and over her head, throwing it at him.</p><p>“That suited you.”</p><p>“I’ll put it back on…”</p><p>“Ah,” he stroked up her legs, hands coming to rest on her knees. “This look suits you more.” He crawled to her, over her body, loving how easily she lay back, smiling up at him, hair spread over the thick rug. “I didn’t know nipples could look different.” He said, wiggling his hips between her thighs.</p><p>“Oh?” she laughed, “Are mine odd?"</p><p>“No. But I just didn’t realise women’s nipples all look different,” he kissed hers, tongue circling, “I like yours best.”</p><p>“Moron.”</p><p>“Worked hard at it.”</p><hr/><p>Roman would never claim to have profound thoughts; at his very simplest he is an immature man-child still searching for Daddy’s recognition. But every now and then he thinks he might be that bit more, that his life doesn’t have to follow suit and be this fake bullshit world he’s inhabited since birth. He tried it once with his siblings, revealing a glimpse of his feelings, that was a humiliation. But then Roman Roy is used to humiliation in every sense of the word.</p><p>“Moron,” he repeats to himself out loud and she seems to stir at that, moving a little beneath him, he watches as she bends her leg, her knee rising, foot sliding back, the glow of the fire on her skin.</p><p>Being naked in her arms is potentially the closest he’ll get to being profound. He’d never tell her, but at times he considers their future – the house he’s hinted at with her a few times, somewhere quiet, sheltered. The hobbies he’ll take up. The visits from her family. Long weekends away without interruption. Her vast skills being called upon all over again to save his Dad’s ass. Waystar never seems to appear in his plans though.</p><p>“I do plan ahead sometimes,” he says out loud and she strokes her hand down his back at that, can tell she’s awake now.</p><p>“It got dark,” she whispers.</p><p>“Bout a half hour since, you okay?”</p><p>“I fell asleep.”</p><p>“I noticed. I’ll get you some water.” Only he doesn’t move, can feel her tug the blanket over their bodies.</p><p>“What were you saying? You said moron?”</p><p>“Was thinking of Dad,” he admitted, twisting his face against her chest, pressing his lips to her skin. “You called me a moron earlier, reminded me of Dad. Public name calling, one of his gifts.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she pressed her hand into his hair, tried to commit to brain never to use the word again. “You’re introspective today.”</p><p>“A passing phase,” he rolled over, looked up at her, “I’ll ring for supplies.” He states, and jumps to his feet. “Anything special?”</p><p>“You choose,” she sits up then, rolls her neck and stretches her back.</p><p>“Your phone,” he said, handing it to her, “messages came through I think.”</p><p>She pulled the blanket around her shoulders but there was no desire to dress, instead she crossed her legs and replied to the many New Year messages she’d received, listening to Roman order in the other room.</p><hr/><p>“So, I was thinking,” she said slowly, rolling onto her stomach and stretching her hand out to take a strawberry from the bowl.</p><p>“A dangerous business for someone your age.”</p><p>“Careful.”</p><p>She pressed a strawberry to his lips and he slid his tongue around the tip of it, eyes holding hers as he sucked on it and moaned.</p><p>“Stop that.”</p><p>“Oh baby, yes,” he groaned again, “just like that, just a little bit more…like…that…”</p><p>“Roman!” She pushed the fruit into his mouth and he laughed between coughing and spluttering. “Is that meant to be me?”</p><p>“You’re kidding right?” He reached for his whisky, rattling the ice in his glass as he downed what was left. “You hardly say a word.”</p><p>“I take offence at that,” she slapped his bare chest.</p><p>“It’s true, moans of encouragement, a <em>yeah</em>, every now and then. But talking during sex? No way.”</p><p>“This makes me sound dull.”</p><p>“Never,” he hooked his leg up over hers, “the sound you make when you come will follow me forever.”</p><p>She blushed at that, smirked as she glanced away, to the fire burning beside them, her hair falling over her face.</p><p>He reached up and brushed it away and she kissed his palm as he did so.</p><p>“This is it, isn’t it?”</p><p>“What?” She asked, the warmth of the fire at her back as she leant into him, her breast pressing into his side.</p><p>“Perfect day. Lying here with you.”</p><p>“Mmm, maybe,” she pressed her mouth to his chest, hands moving over his skin as she repeatedly kissed him, fingers sliding south as he arched up to her touch.</p><p>“Ah, wait,” he said, a hand pressing to her shoulder. “Not that I’m one to pass up the gloriousness of your mouth around my little – medium – dick, but what was it? What you were thinking?”</p><p>She rested her chin on his lower belly, “Oh yes, that.” She sighed heavily, fingers drumming on his chest as he stared down at her. “I was thinking I might be better at it this time. Wife-hood.”</p><p>“Wife-hood? Is that a word?”</p><p>“Maybe I fucking invented it,” she stretched over him, reaching for her whisky, deliberately pressing her breasts to his face.</p><p>“You have the power, so I wouldn’t put it past you. So, why better? You must have an explanation. Reasoning.” He caught hold of the bottom of her glass.</p><p>“Ah, that’s mine.”</p><p>“Mine’s empty.”</p><p>“Then pour more.”</p><p>“I can’t move,” he sighed, “my body’s too weak.”</p><p>“Little fucker,” but she handed him her glass anyway. “Better because things are very different for me.” She settled on his belly again, hands folded beneath her chin this time. “I was so desperate to improve my career then, to do well, you know. Achieve. Prove to all I could do it.”</p><p>“A-ha.”</p><p>“I don’t think – and do correct me if I’m wrong – but I don’t think I have anything left to prove.”</p><p>“Definitely not.”</p><p>“So that’s rather freeing, see. I know you don’t like comparisons, but with Baird there was resentment there, on both sides. He wanted me home more. I’d rather be in the office. He wanted children and some stay-at-home mom.” She shrugged, “Was never going to be me. There’s guilt over that too. But it’s in the past. And I’m different with you, this is different, so maybe I’ll be a better wife. I think we’re both very good at being absolutely selfish. But the thing is, we can be, together. The only person I have to care about is you, so if we want to jet off somewhere for a long weekend we can. If we have to be apart for work then I think both of us are more than equipped to deal with that.”</p><p>“Don’t be too sure about that part.”</p><p>“Well, the other bits then.”</p><p>“Yes. I absolutely agree I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. Not one single fuck.”</p><p>She laughed at that, “You do shock me.” She laid her head down again, kissed his skin, “I like this, the way we are, I’m not going to lie – the luxury of our lives, the dates you take me on. I like that I can be selfish and enjoy it all. So maybe I’ll be better at being a wife because I have time to be, to just focus on that, because I’m not battling for anything else.”</p><p>He rested his hand gently on her back, closed his eyes as he thought about it, “Going to try, you know,” He said. “With all of this. If I get it wrong at times, just, give me a little shove, yeah. A little kick.”</p><p>“Not a problem.”</p><hr/><p>With other men she would have claimed a favourite position, a sure-fire way to do it that would result in her orgasm (she had pretty much found that the man’s was a given) but with Roman any which way worked. That being said she still enjoyed being on top, partly because it meant she had his undivided attention and, with the way Roman’s mind worked, it could shift quickly.</p><p>But not like this.</p><p>She sees herself as an expert in most things, and at this point she’s an expert at Roman Roy. Can predict his response whatever occurs, knows his mind well enough to figure out whether he’ll retreat or advance. He’s open about his insecurities, and in turn that’s made her braver too, more likely to open up to him. Somehow that translates to trust, to the open, freeing sexual relationship they have.</p><p>She watches his pupils dilate as she leans forward, can feel him stretch and move inside her. His hands move to her ass, sliding around, pressing her closer and groaning as he does. She traces her tongue across his lower lip, probing his mouth open, runs the tip of it across his teeth. All the while her hips are moving so slowly it’s like winding up a spinning top. Just enough pressure exerted, not enough to make him lose control, but enough to keep him primed.  She shudders, just slightly, as her open mouth kisses his and he smiles at that, squeezes her bottom.</p><p>Her mouth moves over his chin, the sensation of his unshaven face scratching her cheek, and then the deep intoxicating smell of him that seems to fill her. When he passes her in meetings these days she catches the fragrance – his aftershave, the scent of his skin – and it marks a memory, can make her stomach tighten, or her heart, or that place low inside that comes alive whenever he touches her.</p><p>She registers his complaint as her mouth moves down his chest and his erection slips out of her, but she makes him wait, because maybe there will be days she can’t do this and his stomach is flat and firm and trailing her tongue over it so inviting. A quick hand between them guides him back inside and she hums at that, moves to his mouth again and kisses him deeply this time, hungrily, one hand on his cheek, the diamond of her ring biting into his skin.</p><p>When the pressure in her belly tightens she sits up, palms flat on his chest, staring down at him as she ups the pace. She feels like each hair on her arms is alert, the sensation so tactile, she can simultaneously feel his fingertips moving up her spine as far as he can reach and the deep steady throb of him inside her touching every part, every nerve. He watches her for a while, bites his bottom lip and gives a funny sort of laugh, “Christ yes, I love it when you do that.” But she already knew that, the arch of her body, the way she pulls against him, drags the sweet slickness of herself along him until he’s almost panting, writhing up to grasp at her.</p><p>“Gerri,” he gasps, and his hand grabs her arm, the other on her hip. She slides her hand into his, his fingers closing around hers, and her other hand presses over his; she can feel the undulating roll of her body, hear the tiny cracked groans coming from her throat. “You’re so fucking wet,” words spill from his mouth now, her name, a string of promises, proclamations of affection and need and want.</p><p>Her head falls back involuntarily, heart thudding, she can feel the prickle of a red blush spreading over her chest, along her thighs and his hand still in hers, still holding her.</p><p>Orgasms come in all different sorts and shapes and sizes. The quick heady rush of one, the prolonged drawn-out making love of one. The let-down of a rush of nothing. Or worse, not getting there at all. Or the intensity that makes you giggle it’s so overwhelming. But this is new, like being fully in tune with him, every movement tapered to the other’s.</p><p>“Oh god, I love you,” she hadn’t meant to say that, hated women who revealed weaknesses and emotion at such moments. It was just sex. Only it wasn’t. It was like finally finding the other half, the breath in her lungs. She could feel it in her legs, like electricity, spiralling and working its way up.</p><p>“I love you too,” his voice was clear, direct, honest. “So fucking much.”</p><p>And then the spark reached her core and she somehow tightened and shuddered all at once, drawing him in, crying out in pleasure – she was vaguely aware of his hips bucking up to her, of his voice, but her head was spinning and her eyes swam with blackness and sparks of light.</p><p>Her heart is thudding so much she thinks for a moment it’ll stop, like she’s run a marathon or swam a mile. Only it’s so delicious, coming down from that high, falling back into her body, skin alive and sparking. The buzzing in her ears starts to ease away, and she tunes into the sound of him instead, his laboured breaths, short and sharp, punctuated by the odd groan.</p><p>“Never, in my life,” he tried to say, paused for a moment, reached up her body, momentarily cupping her breasts and then she leant forward slightly, kissed his palms, let his hands thread into her hair and tug her down to him. Slick skin against slick skin, and yet she didn’t feel warm, it was an odd sensation, she could feel the firelight on her bare back and enjoyed it, body like clay waiting to be moulded. All her energy sapped, and just the desire to sleep pressed against him with this wondrous, increased sensitivity travelling through her. She’s aware of his penis pulling out of her, of the slickness of her thighs, and she thinks fleetingly of being embarrassed for whomever may have to clean this rug. But then his arm is heavy over her, covering them both with the blanket from earlier and his mouth is by her ear whispering.</p><p>She glances to the fire, eyes heavy, catches the glint of her ring in its light and stares down at where her hand is pressed against Roman’s arm.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Lobster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The city drilled by in one endless sweep of blackness and lights; Saturday night, busy streets, Roman could feel the energy tangible around him. He cast a glance at Gerri, then back to the streets, then his phone which he turned over repeatedly in his hand, that familiar lump of apprehension in his throat.</p>
<p>“You okay?” He asked, eyes darting to watch her.</p>
<p>“A-ha,” she never even looked up. “You?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sure. Hungry.”</p>
<p>“I could murder a martini,” she said.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” He tapped his phone in the palm of his hand, the sleek, moulded plastic sounding in a low dull beat. The screen occasionally lit up as he caught it with his thumb; he considered scrawling through social media, passing time by leaving vacuous comments to wind people up, to distract his mind for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes.</p>
<p>“What you make of this?” He asked instead, shifting in his seat, lifting one foot up and curling his leg beneath him as he half turned to look at her.</p>
<p>“Mm?”</p>
<p>“Fucking Dad. This is a ploy, right, some shit will kick off or he’ll make some asswipe announcement about shit going down at shitsville central and we’ll be carted off upstairs to deal with it.”</p>
<p>She slowly turned her head from her phone, nails tapping along the back of it as she stared at him. “Can you ever just talk to me normally?”</p>
<p>“No. Though I do. Often. So?”</p>
<p>She turned her attention back to tapping on her phone, “It better not be, I haven’t worn this fucking dress with the scary hold-in underwear just to be put to work.”</p>
<p>“I like the scary underwear, it’s like unwrapping some Egyptian mummy when we get home.”</p>
<p>She delicately lifted one hand and her middle finger with it without even breaking her typing speed.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck you typing to?”</p>
<p>“Work.” She abruptly turned to him as the car slowed, “Now look.”</p>
<p>“Oh fuck. Whenever you do that tone I feel like some little kid about to get my ass kicked. I usually enjoy it, but tonight…”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes at his stupidity, “Just, calm down a little, that’s all. My daughters are going to be in this car in approximately three minutes and I already have to deal with my friends being at this thing, and now explaining how Blair is <em>yes</em> getting married and <em>yes</em> having a baby with her partner and<em> yes</em> I’m marrying this lickle Roy and all those far flung separate aspects of my life are going to come together in your father’s fucking apartment, of all places, for an engagement party. So, if ever I thought I would find myself on some reality tv show bullshit this feels exactly like it.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“So, I need you to be calm. Stop mumbling. Stop hyperventilating.” She pressed her hand on his shaking knee. “Stop tapping the leg. Be your wonderful, effervescent, scene-stealing self. But most of all, Roman,” she leant across to him, the leather of the seat cracking as she moved, “most of all please make sure this goes well tonight, because I don’t plan on marrying again and I certainly don’t plan on ever having an engagement party again.”</p>
<p>“I think we would have avoided this one if we could.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. But well, your father insisted. Some gesture of goodwill I suppose.”</p>
<p>“He never makes fucking gestures; just stealth bomber moves.”</p>
<p>“Quite.” She crossed her ankles and he placed his hand over hers where it still rested on his leg, holding it in silence for the rest of the short ride to her old apartment. “To be honest, I’m still surprised he took the whole announcement so well, I expected to either be jumped as I was getting in my car and be shot by a mugger or some obscure document I might have put my name to 20 years ago suddenly surfacing.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say shit like that, he wouldn’t react that badly, least I’ve chosen someone intelligent who actually respects the family business.”</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s why you’ve chosen me.” She slid her phone into her bag. “Nothing to do with the kink of getting off with your father’s long serving legal counsel.”</p>
<p>He shrugged his shoulders higher than was comfortable, “Never thought on it.”</p>
<p>“Course not.”</p>
<p>“Your nipples are hard. Stand out in that dress.” He shot out as the car came to a stop.</p>
<p>She glanced down quickly, automatically reaching to place her hand to her chest, and he laughed at his ability to easily garner a reaction.</p>
<p>“Fucker.”</p>
<p>“That’s the tone I like to start things on.” He sat forward, opening the door.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“Being polite. Challenging expectations.”</p>
<p>He greeted her daughters out on the street, held the door, waved the driver away and planted a kiss to each of their cheeks.</p>
<p>“Goodness,” Gerri exclaimed, wide-eyed as Emma sat across from her. “You’re blooming.”</p>
<p>“She means you’re looking round,” Blair stated, happily planting her hand on her partner’s belly.</p>
<p>“It is only one, right? Because I haven’t planned for more than that.” She crossed her ankles, fixed her eyes on the happy pair facing her.</p>
<p>“That’s a fucking lie,” Blair said, “you’ve sent us enough stuff already for five brats.”</p>
<p>Gerri shrugged, glanced casually to the window, “First grandchild,” she said softly, “but your first child, more importantly, preparation is key, believe me.”</p>
<p>“Or a nanny,” Blair’s voice rose slightly as she said the last word, a slight smile as Gerri scowled.</p>
<p>“Cheap shot.”</p>
<p>“We’ve not even managed five minutes,” Maisie huffed, folding her arms, and something in her tone made the rest of them quiet. Roman noted the look that passed between Gerri and Blair, the mutual smile, a signal that the back-and-forth they engaged in so easily – and regularly – was a mental chess game for the both of them.</p>
<p>“So, he proposed where, on the slopes?” Blair asked, “mid stroke…?”</p>
<p>Gerri’s eyebrows were enough to make all three girls laugh.</p>
<p>“Can’t even tell you how many times I fucking proposed,” Roman said, “she likes to wait though, get your balls tight enough in the vice before she snaps you.”</p>
<p>“Christ you know her well.” Blair said.</p>
<p>“This is in no way conducive to my enjoyment of the evening,” Gerri said and then turned her attention to her other daughter. “And you, stop looking at me like that,” she pointed her finger at Maisie. “you’re unnerving me.”</p>
<p>“Why? I’m smiling because I’m happy you’re happy, it’s allowed isn’t it, in the real world?”</p>
<p>“No, not in my world, not like that.”</p>
<p>“Because smiling unnerves you?”</p>
<p>“Nobody ever smiles in their business,” Blair chipped in and Roman sniggered, glancing to the window. “It’s likely a weakness or some shit.”</p>
<p>“You look very nice, mother,” Maisie said instead. “Great dress.”</p>
<p>“You look very nice too, now what’s going on with your job, what aren’t you telling me?”</p>
<p>Maisie shrugged, “Thought I might spend some time in the city for a while, back home, a problem?”</p>
<p>“Course not.”</p>
<p>“Cos I can find somewhere else, if your place is out of bounds…”</p>
<p>“You know that’s not the case. You can stay there as long as you like.”</p>
<p>“She won’t tell me either, just that Mr Muscle is MIA.” Blair said.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, he was just for fun.”</p>
<p>“We were all well aware of that,” Gerri replied.</p>
<p>Roman sat forward then, reaching to Emma and shaking her hand, “Good luck to the both of us here, we’ve actively chosen to enter into this madness.”</p>
<p>He felt the sharp jab of Gerri’s elbow in the side of his arm as he sat back, the girls’ laughter accompanying it the rather visceral reminder that she well and truly owned him. But then she seemed to lean into his side, her knees pointed towards his, and when he took a glance at her profile there was a smile on her face.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>These kinds of events are the thing Marcia does well, bodies gathering in luxurious spaces to chomp down on over-indulgent food, endless champagne, music, soft lighting.</p>
<p>These are also the kinds of events Roman hates. Floating around like some street urchin, usually he’d rely on his expert use of volume to get attention, but in his father’s home at his own engagement party it seems out-of-place and akin to a punishable offence. Odd really, to be on his own as he scans the room, there should be friends congratulating him (but he has so few), and his family members are caught up in their own shit and really the only person he actually wants to speak to is his father. But there’s nerves there too. Because two weeks ago he was so unquestionably happy, nothing could take the edge off, but now he’s in New York and back in the bosom of the Roys and that’s when things go wrong.</p>
<p>“So, son,” Logan’s hand on his shoulder always feels like a bit of a warning and it takes him a few seconds to recalibrate, tune into his father’s words. “This is all… well, sorry it’s a bit cobbled together, last minute, you know how it is.”</p>
<p>“Yeah sure, I mean, it’s good. And thanks, you know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no problem, bit of positive New Year news.”</p>
<p>He watched as his Dad drained the last of the bourbon in his glass.</p>
<p>“Positive?” He was genuinely surprised at that; when they’d told them the news over dinner things had been quiet, frosty from Logan whilst Marcia and Shiv had put on a fuss and he’d watched Gerri awkwardly accept hugs from them both and felt a bit useless.</p>
<p>He hadn’t slept that night. Had laid beside her in the dark trying to work out from which angle his father would come at them.</p>
<p>Only he hadn’t. He’d hosted an engagement party and here they were.</p>
<p>“You going to give a speech?” Logan said.</p>
<p>“Christ no,” Roman could think of nothing worse.</p>
<p>“Gerri?”</p>
<p>“I doubt it. Not that kind of – you know.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Keep it low-key.” He lifted is hand then, pointing across the room, “I know him, Simon I think, one of Baird’s lot.”</p>
<p>Roman follows his gaze, scanning the assembled guests for whomever it is that Logan is referring to, but he really doesn’t want his fiancée’s deceased husband being discussed tonight. He catches sight of her then, the way his eyes are always drawn to her wherever she is, the way she commands his attention even without meaning to. The flash of her hair as she turns her head, a smile passes over his face as he looks over her body, recalls her changing her dress four times before settling on the one she is in now. She is standing on her tiptoes, leaning forward, a broad, genuine smile on her face as she throws her arms around the tall, older man she’s talking to. He embraces her in return, and Roman turns fully now to watch them, no longer pretending to be listening to his father. He notes how the man pushes his hand along her back, presses his palm into the dip where Roman likes to rest his chin when they’re lying naked together talking into the early hours. That curve, the spot just above her bottom, where he imagines no man but he has ever touched.</p>
<p>There is genuine affection between the two, he can see that, the man presses his mouth to the side of Gerri’s hair and she squeezes him tightly in return. They talk then, the man’s hand is still resting on her arm, her face is animated, engaged as she pays attention and he so rarely sees this kind of enjoyment from her conversations – he can usually tell when she’s bored or frustrated or just has zero patience for the limited intelligence of the person trying to hold her attention. Her expressions in these moments amuse him greatly, as if the thoughts in her head are the same as in his, only a raise of her eyebrow, or the slightest twerk of her mouth, expresses her inner thoughts and he can read them.</p>
<p>Logan has turned away, drawn into another conversation, and before he can be enticed into the group he makes a decision to introduce himself to the man Gerri is with, clearly this is someone who she knows well, and as such will probably be at their wedding at some point (the realisation of this catches him off guard, and he feels a slight tightening in his chest, scattered images of family and friends gathered, all watching, all staring).</p>
<p>Gerri turns before he’s close enough to speak, tilts her head slightly and smiles, one arm stretching out – he feels her hand grasp his elbow as she brings him in closer.</p>
<p>“Honey, this is one of my oldest friends – Simon.” Her voice has taken on that soft quality she usually only saves for him, and from that alone he can tell that this is someone who means a great deal to her and as such he straightens himself up, tries to trick his brain into behaving like an adult.</p>
<p>“Really good to meet you,” he says, taking the man’s hand, “Roman Roy.”</p>
<p>“Good to meet you two, sorry it’s taken so long, I don’t get to the city much these days but to hear that Gerri’s engaged, ha,” he half-gasped, half-laughed and Roman was unsure how to take that. “The woman who swore she would….”</p>
<p>“Don’t exaggerate.” She rolled her eyes, cutting him off and squeezing Roman’s arm in hers. “Besides, he can be very convincing when he needs to be.” She looked at him fondly, and he sucked that in, enjoyed the occasional shafts of sunlight she lavishes upon him with her attention.</p>
<p>Then his mouth woke up and he spluttered out some ridiculous line about being able to put his own socks on and tie his shoelaces and the man laughs kindly but he feels like a dick, is a dick, but Gerri is still holding onto him so it can’t be all bad.</p>
<p>“That ring is certainly very convincing.” Simon nods at her hand.</p>
<p>“Oh piss off,” she leant in close to him again, “how is Krystie?”</p>
<p>“Not good,” he shrugged, “I’d send her regards but the truth is she wouldn’t even…” he stopped, breathed deeply and Gerri rested her hand on his arm now. “…you know.”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“Won’t be long, I think, Gerri.”</p>
<p>She nodded, Roman noted how she sucked on her bottom lip, her fingers curling into the material of the man’s jacket. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>Roman felt locked out of something then, like he was standing on the outside of a secret club, one that was too intelligent and too adult to grant him access.</p>
<p>“But I am glad you’re happy.”</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes, “Who said I’m happy?”</p>
<p>“Nobody needs to say a word darling, easy to see.”</p>
<p>“I’m such an open book.”</p>
<p>“Never in a million fucking years!” Simon laughed, “where’s Blair? I want to wish her luck too.”</p>
<p>“You’re coming to the wedding, hers I mean, she’s invited you to DC?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I got the invite. I’ll do my best.” He kissed Gerri’s cheek, surprised Roman when he reached to shake his hand. “Good luck!” He stated.</p>
<p>“Why…?” Roman asked but Gerri turned him away before he could continue, hooking her arm through his and leading him toward the bar.</p>
<p>“He was Baird’s friend, well we were all friends, the four of us used to sail, their kids grew up with ours, you know how it is.”</p>
<p>He didn’t. He had no idea. But he nodded along anyhow. “And his wife is ill?”</p>
<p>“For a long time now. Makes you think.”</p>
<p>“About…?”</p>
<p>She pondered that, gripped his arm tighter and stopped where they were, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could before turning to face him.</p>
<p>“You look handsome tonight.”</p>
<p>He was surprised by that, “Obviously.”</p>
<p>“Yes, obviously. And young too.”</p>
<p>“Okay…”</p>
<p>She moved her body into his, pressed her hands to his chest, “Lucky me.”</p>
<p>“What’s this?”</p>
<p>“Put your hand on my hip.”</p>
<p>“Why?” But he did it nevertheless.</p>
<p>“For anyone who’s here tonight doubting. Believes the gossip column line that we’ve never even shared a bed, that this is some way to neatly tie up the business.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “Fuck those guys.”</p>
<p>“Yes. But worth having a moment though, don’t you think, our engagement party,” she lifted her chin, he watched the way her hair fell as she did so. “A lot of bullshit conversations tonight, worth us having a moment to remind them why they’re here.”</p>
<p>“Dad sent the invitations, that’s incentive enough. But I could suckle on your neck if you like, motorboat your amazing tits.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that, “Hmm, tempting,” her head tipped forward slightly as she laughed, and he brushed his chin against her hair then, a hand on her back as he stepped in closer.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Worth having a moment to remind these motherfuckers how lucky <em>I</em> am,” he said.</p>
<p>“Mmm,” she hummed softly in the back of her throat before she kissed him. Nothing showy, nothing too lascivious, but enough to cement their mutual attraction. “Now,” she said, both hands resting on his chest, “are you enjoying yourself?”</p>
<p>“Diva that I am, I guess being centre of attention is what I thrive on.”</p>
<p>She toyed with his hair, “Liar. Promise me your brother isn’t going to perform.”</p>
<p>“Fuck me, an engagement rap, he’s likely waiting for the wedding to be honest. L to the O V, carry and add the E.”</p>
<p>She giggled at that until her shoulders shook and she rested her hands on his arms, standing in close to him again. “Whatever happens save me from that, yes? Or it might all be off.”</p>
<p>He sucked in air between his teeth, “Welll, only because the request comes from the baddest goddess I’ve ever met.”</p>
<p>“Yes well, this goddess is thirsty, so toddle off and fetch me a martini, yes.”</p>
<p>“Yes ma’am.”</p>
<p>She was still smiling to herself as she turned around and found Frank watching her carefully, holding out his hand, “Care to dance?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think we’ve danced in all the years I’ve known you.” But she took his hand regardless and followed him out to the dancefloor.</p>
<p>“So, say what it is you want to say?”</p>
<p>“Meaning?”</p>
<p>“Meaning we’ve known each other several lifetimes and never shared a moment like this, so clearly this is an opportunity for you to whisper something to me you don’t want anyone else to hear.” She paused, let him turn her, his hand at the base of her spine. “You disapprove?” She asked, voice rising slightly at the end of the sentence.</p>
<p>“Not at all, it’s good for the kid, you’ve been good for him. You spoken to Logan?”</p>
<p>“Should I?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “Just wondered, what his take on it all was, you know, what angle he wants to play.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather he didn’t play an angle in this particular situation. I’d rather he just left us to it.”</p>
<p>Frank laughed at that, and she did the same, shaking her head at her own idiocy. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m being foolish. In more than one way.”</p>
<p>“Word is it took some persuasion, him getting you to say yes.”</p>
<p>She pursed her lips, “He may have asked a few times, if that’s what the grapevine says.”</p>
<p>“And the thing that really sealed the deal…?”</p>
<p>“Nothing in particular. I just realised…” she remembers being out in the snow and how she felt when she’d watched him with his family, but she wasn’t about to share that information with Frank or how her heart had tightened and swelled at the sight. “I realised I was old enough and rich enough to maybe indulge myself every now and then. And Roman seems like the ultimate indulgence.”</p>
<p>Frank smirked, “Good for you. How many times if you had to sit through company meals with women a quarter of our age hanging off our arm, about time you turned the tables.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes at that, “Not sure he’s going to run off with the gardener or fitness trainer though.”</p>
<p>“Ouch! Sharp shot. But yeah, me neither, I think you’ve got him hooked. Sugar mama that you are.”</p>
<p>“Fuck sake. It’s milf usually. Don’t make me out a predator.”</p>
<p>“Something to it though, maybe, the extra added sizzle to it all. Not that I’m saying you set out with that intention, of course not, clearly there is more to it. But there’s got to be an added little frisson of excitement, temptation, whatever you want to call it, a sort of power that might come with the fact that you’ve hooked him. Got one over on the old man… You don’t have to answer that. In fact, feel free to forget that I ever said anything.”</p>
<p>“I think it’s safer if I do.”</p>
<p>“Song’s ending, and your lapdog has your Martini,” Frank nodded towards where Roman stood watching them.</p>
<p>“I like to keep him well trained.”</p>
<p>“Clearly.” He let go of her, “Looking forward to the wedding.”</p>
<p>“I look forward to seeing who’s draped on your arm,” she teased as she walked away, a smile idling its way across her face as she took her drink from Roman.</p>
<p>“What’s that about?”</p>
<p>“Mmm, mind games. This is good, thanks.” She smiled again, watching as Roman scanned after Frank. “What?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, just, you know, never gone there… Frank…? You’d be a good-looking couple.”</p>
<p>“You trying to move me on again, are you?” She stepped in close to him, eyebrow arching as a smile briefly crossed her face. “She finally says yes and then he gets bored.”</p>
<p>“Just saying,” he shrugged, “you’d be hot together.”</p>
<p>“Are we not… hot?”</p>
<p>“You are, clearly you bring considerably more to this match-up than I do.”</p>
<p>“Well, obviously.” She laughed then, felt his hand rest on her hip again as he moved in to kiss her. “You ever stop and think how ridiculous this all is.” She said.</p>
<p>“Yes. Course. Worth it?”</p>
<p>She swallowed more of her drink, “Yeah. I like your fingers on me, they do nice things. In fact," she whispered by his ear, "I can’t stop thinking about your fingers being on me. In me.”</p>
<p>He nodded, his face remaining as calm and neutral as he could muster, “Fair enough, I like your hair.”</p>
<p>“Best you can do…?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, glanced over her shoulder at the room heavy with people he didn’t give a fuck about, “Only human I can really stand spending an extensive amount of time with.” He tugged on a lock of her hair that hung down across her cheek, “Lobster.”</p>
<p>She frowned at that, shook her head in confusion and leant in to kiss his cheek, “Go off and play with the other children now; but take care of your fingers, I might have use for them later.”</p>
<p>He flexed them in her face before walking backwards from her, an air of smugness to his walk.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“And so, it’s like well if I can be helpful or you know just have a role that’s a bit more fitting of my talents, you know.”</p>
<p>“U-huh,” Roman dug his hand into his pocket and drew out his phone, glancing to the time and wondering how much longer this would go on for.</p>
<p>“Kendall’s been really helpful, you know, after all the fuss with <em>the thing</em>, you know, with your Dad.”</p>
<p>“Fuss?” Roman rocked backwards on his heels, “You tried to take my fucking father out, Greg, his heart could have caved man, but yeah, you know, as long as you get a role befitting your vast business acumen then… yay, go Greg.” He waved an imaginary flag in the air.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Greg tapped his foot nervously as he finished his wine. “So, you and Gerri then.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Okay.”</p>
<p>“You might have goofy-idiot-ed your way into my brother’s apartment but I’m not quite the dumb bastard folks think I am.”</p>
<p>Greg stuck his chin out and nodded wide-eyed before pointing over Roman’s head, “Looks like your Dad’s gonna say something.”</p>
<p>“What? Now? Shit.” He handed Greg his glass of champagne and quickly crossed the room towards where Logan stood on the stairs, a general hush moving over the room.</p>
<p>Roman slid to a halt next to Shiv, “What the fuck?” He mumbled.</p>
<p>“What’s the old guy gonna toast, thank fuck you got a new parent to wipe your ass?”</p>
<p>Usually he’d snip back with some equally low-grade retort, but the fact his father was whispering to Martha as people gathered had sent him into a void. His ears seemed to hum and he was desperately looking for Gerri. “Erm, so, is he gonna like just send us all home now or something?”</p>
<p>“You wish. This is roasting time bro, buckle in.”</p>
<p>He felt a sudden need to disappear onto the balcony when his father thumped the top of the microphone with the palm of his hand, “Ah, okay, good, we’re on. So, I know you fuckers are all well and truly oiled by now so we can dispense with the pleasantries. We’re here because my youngest son has gone and got himself engaged. About bloody time, you might think, the kid is nearly forty – still acts like he’s some twatty fourteen-year-old but there you go. Gerri’s problem now.” He paused for a moment at their polite laughter and Roman dug both of his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels again, counting down the seconds until it was over. “Some of the sceptics out there may believe I’m not on his side with this – They. Would. Be. Wrong. Can’t think of anyone better to have as a daughter-in-law than the woman who keeps me on the right side of the law. Where is he? Ah, Romulus, get yourself up here.”</p>
<p>Roman felt his knees shake, visions of being roared at and told to get his dick out of Gerri for the sake of the company, of hurting her on his father’s say-so and now, suddenly, this is the best decision he’s ever made. That’s the wonder of parents, the way they can easily erase and whitewash the bits they don’t want to remember the same way you remember.</p>
<p>He took the microphone from Logan, “Thanks Pa,” and for a few seconds blinked out at the hundreds of eyes staring at him. “I wasn’t going to er, say anything, a shock I know cos I’m like yahhh most of the time, yeah. Erm… I can’t actually see where Gerri is…” he felt like his bodily functions were freezing one-by-one, speech buffering, eyes clouded as he scanned the room and felt like a prick stood up there beside his father trying to think of a speech on the spot. “The thing is I wasn’t going to… well, I know some of you are here tonight to keep your job, some to try and get a word in his ear, some to gawp at the oddity of the pair of us. But well, you know, doubt all your fucking want really.”</p>
<p>He paused, took in the few scattered fits of embarrassed laughter from around the room. He could smell Logan’s familiar cologne, feel his stocky figure expectant beside him. He stared into the distance, his heart a tight lump of stone in his chest and then he saw her hair, she was running her hand through it, at the back of the room beside Maisie. He didn’t think she was smiling; she was holding an empty Martini glass in one hand and it amused him to think she was counting down the seconds for this to end too so she could get a refill. She tilted her head, eyebrows raised and she gave him this look like ‘get the hell on with it’ and it kick-started his heart. Filled his lungs.</p>
<p>“She’s everything...” He said simply, and there was the slightest pout of her lips in response. “Yeah. That’s it really. All there is to say. So…” he stopped, turned to Logan, “Thanks for hosting this Dad, Marcia, good of you and all that shit.” He handed the microphone back.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman leant forward and took the glass of bourbon from his brother, watching as he filled another two glasses for Shiv and Connor. They’d escaped five minutes earlier, found an empty room upstairs and settled in.</p>
<p>“Is it true you’re getting ‘property of Gerri’ tattooed on your ass?” Shiv asked and Connor smirked.</p>
<p>Roman sucked the alcohol between his teeth, “Gerri’s bitch, actually.”</p>
<p>“Fitting. You little bitch.”</p>
<p>“Takes one to know one.”</p>
<p>“A toast,” Kendall said, leaning across the coffee table and lifting his glass. “To our baby brother growing up…”</p>
<p>“Er…” Connor interrupted, “…growing up?”</p>
<p>“Well, getting married. Three out of four down.”</p>
<p>“You lot are hardly a sparkling track record,” Roman stated, stretching back on the sofa and kicking his legs up onto it. “Fucking divorce tightrope being walked here for both of you.”</p>
<p>“I resent that,” Shiv said; she was drunk, which was unusual for her, but Roman noted how her head wobbled a little too much when she spoke, body leaning back against a chair where she sprawled on the floor. “Tom and I are on even ground at the moment.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, he get his other asshole sewn up did he?”</p>
<p>“Fuck you. Coming from the guy living out his milf fantasy.”</p>
<p>“Jealousy is ugly on you Shiv, ages you terribly.” Roman shot back and then turned his attention to Connor settling into a lounge chair, because deflecting their attentions onto each other seemed favourable to being the centre of their focus. “What about you Con, no plans to ask Willa?”</p>
<p>“Christ, I hope not,” Kendall said.</p>
<p>“Fuck the lot of you, we don’t need to get married, tight enough as it is.”</p>
<p>“Nobody <em>needs </em>to get married,” Kendall added, “Rome doesn’t <em>need</em> to get married, right, he just is.”</p>
<p>“I beg to differ with that,” Roman waved his glass pointedly in the air.</p>
<p>“Go on then, explain to me why there’s no other option.”</p>
<p>“There’s plenty of fucking options, just not one I want.”</p>
<p>“To be fair, we all thought you’d be the first of us to take the plunge, as a kid you were always the softest one. Like a fucking marshmallow. Playing dress up with your Ken and Barbie.” Shiv said.</p>
<p>“Yeah, no wonder I was confused about sex, nothing between either of their legs.”</p>
<p>“Plastic fantastic,” Kendall laughed.</p>
<p>“Surprised you never married Grace, we thought you got the closest with her.”</p>
<p>Roman shrugged, staring at the dark amber liquid in his glass as he swirled it around, “She wasn’t right.” He drained the alcohol, closing his eyes momentarily, “Feels different.”</p>
<p>“Would have had a ready-made family with her,” Shiv added, “a kid and all.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Maybe.” He sat up, kicking his legs out in front of him.</p>
<p>“Still not convinced me why you <em>need</em> to get married.”</p>
<p>“<em>She’s everything</em>,” Connor said, “he told you in his eloquent speech. And to be honest I get you Rome, I really do, couldn’t get through the days without Willa. She’s my rock.”</p>
<p>Shiv smirked at Kendall, looked away quickly and momentarily hid her face behind her hair, and Roman felt a surprising pang of sympathy for the guy – at least Gerri returned his affection, from the outside it seemed obvious to Roman that the only thing Willa got from it was the limitless dollar.</p>
<p>“Felt a right prick with that speech, talk about dropping me in the shit.”</p>
<p>“Aw, you were kinda sweet, little boy lost.” Shiv said, refilling her glass.</p>
<p>“Seriously Rome,” Kendall lifted his glass, “Happy for you, really.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Ken, appreciate it, ya fucking dope-boy.”</p>
<p>There was a momentary silence in the room, the shared awkwardness of siblings who had grown up simultaneously relying on each other and in competition with each other. They only had each other to turn to because they were the only ones who could understand what it was to be Logan Roy’s child. Both the luxury and the hell of it all.</p>
<p>“End of an era,” Kendall said solemnly, “you getting married. Like we’re all heading off.” His eyes flicked towards Roman, “When’s it gonna be?”</p>
<p>“No idea, we haven’t, you know, decided, talked… this year I hope. No messing about – and no fucking jokes about her age and getting on with it.”</p>
<p>“Mother?” Shiv queried.</p>
<p>Roman laughed, “Overjoyed of course, <em>I like Gerri, I really do</em>…” he said imitating his mother’s voice.</p>
<p>“<em>But…!”</em> Shiv and Kendall both said in unison followed by snorts of laughter.</p>
<p>“She’s potentially too old, it’s potentially a business deal, there won’t be any babies to carry on the family name… blah fucking blah. But she likes her, she really does.”</p>
<p>“Least Dad is being fair,” Kendall said, “surprisingly.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that kinda freaks me out more to be honest, least with mom I know where we stand, Dad going all for it, well –,” he shrugged, “– I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he’s genuinely okay with it,” Connor said, and Roman thought all over again what a gullible dick he was, he’d believe any bullshit if it made life that little bit more palatable. “Like, you’ve been with her a while now, not that much of a surprise. He might just be happy, you know, possible, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Dad? Happy?” Shiv frowned, “Do miracles happen?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>Roman groaned as he crawled naked across the bed to where Gerri lounged, pillows squashed up behind her back, her iPad on her lap as she scanned the news. He flopped his face onto her legs, forehead resting on her shins.</p>
<p>“So, what you think?” She asked, hardly even looking up.</p>
<p>“Stuff of nightmares.” He mumbled into her pyjamas.</p>
<p>Why,” she half frowned, “I thought it went well, as these things can be expected to be, you know.” She glanced over her glasses, “Not having regrets, are we?”</p>
<p>“Not over you.”</p>
<p>“Getting married?”</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>“Convince me.”</p>
<p>He looked up then, wide eyes fixed on her face. “Not. You.”</p>
<p>She pushed her glasses off and dangled them on her fingers, “Good. Now, stop laying there with your naked ass in the air, come get in bed.”</p>
<p>“You’re reading.”</p>
<p>“Convince me to stop – magic fingers and all.”</p>
<p>He flicked his body over, slid up the bed and clambered beneath the sheets, “Your side of things seems much simpler.”</p>
<p>“My side of things often is. I’m meeting the girls for brunch next weekend whilst they’re still in town, you’re not invited.”</p>
<p>“Gee thanks.”</p>
<p>She put her iPad aside, settled down in the bed, “No offence honey but we need a bit of female time.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough.”</p>
<p>“You disappeared tonight…” she prompted, fingers sliding down his bare arm. “After your world-beating speech. Where’d you head off to?”</p>
<p>“Sibling time. You weren’t invited.”</p>
<p>She smirked at that, pursed her lips. “That deserves punishment.”</p>
<p>“You’re so fucking hot, you know.”</p>
<p>“U-huh…”</p>
<p>“And I’m some useless streak of piss.”</p>
<p>“Mmm…”</p>
<p>“So. World-beating, you think?”</p>
<p>“Oh, clearly, you hire one of your scriptwriter friends to put it together.”</p>
<p>He moved on top of her, settling between her thighs, “Fuck off, taking the piss.”</p>
<p>She linked her hands together at the base of his spine, “Foreplay.”</p>
<p>“Unique. And you know I don’t have any friends so no scriptwriter involved, pure Roy.”</p>
<p>She pressed her mouth to his neck, lips tracing over his collarbone, only half listening as he mumbled on about his quick-thinking skills and ability to mould words to his will. Remembering a time he bounded about the office shirtless and flexing – she had little time for him then, his boyish shenanigans, funny how things change.</p>
<p>“Stop talking,” she instructed, fingers digging into his ass. “Use your mouth for other things.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman got to the restaurant a half hour early just to be sure. Ordered a scotch, took a seat at his father’s table, and flicked through crap on his phone because distraction was better than contemplation. He hardly ever went there with social media – he and Gerri – because the bottom line was most of the people who used these platforms were pricks with fuck-all else to do than make their miserable little lives seem better by poking fun at those in higher positions. He could take the jibes about him being as thick as a plank, what the fuck did that matter when he was going home to his gold-decked penthouse every night and these asses were rolling around some shoebox apartment with mismatched second-hand furniture and clinging on to the hope of finding entertainment by following their loser workmates to a bar on a Friday night. He existed on a higher plain.</p>
<p>But Gerri, attacking her was something else.</p>
<p>To him she had become some beacon of perfection. It wasn’t an easy won role neither. His track record with women was such that he let them go before they’d even learned how he liked his coffee. She was in his home, so deeply entwined with his life that he could never imagine trying to pick her loose from the tangled web she now lounged in. He wanted to spend his life with her, to have her as his wife. And some small-pricked dickless-wonder had the nerve to make memes mocking her on fucking twitter! It was some saving grace that she never used the platform (or any of that shit really), and he engaged in it so rarely now after she’d dragged him into reality. But Christ, mocking her age, weight, work outfits… hundreds of comments saying she’d be better with Logan, reams of likes for some disgusting pornographic edit of her on her knees doing it for the money.</p>
<p>He forwarded a bunch of links to his assistant with the message ‘Sort this fucking shit!’ in block capitals. He’d sue every low-life bastard if that’s what it took.</p>
<p>There was the odd soft comment about it seeming sweet, some nicely framed shot of them exiting a car and his hand on hers, or her looking over her shoulder at him as they leave some red-carpet thing. But for every one of those there were five mocking his Oedipus complex mommy issues.</p>
<p>This was not the way to start off what promised me some toe-curling dinner with Daddy. He ordered a second scotch and read the menu instead.</p>
<p>Logan was always on time. Sharp as you like on the dot. Escorted to his seat, the odd handshake from some old acquaintance as he passes through the restaurant, lapping it up like he’s some fucking King. Roman rose to hug him, missed it and ended up slapping the old guy’s arm awkwardly as they sat down. Food was ordered, some small talk over the best cut of beef, a bottle of wine opened for the starters, a red breathing for the mains.</p>
<p>And then he got down to it. As he always did.</p>
<p>“Now, Romulus, we need to talk.”</p>
<p>“Oh, we’re not chewing the landscape?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t invite you here to play fucking howdie-doodie, I can do that any day of the week in any meeting where you zone out.”</p>
<p>He glanced at the napkin in his lap, re-laid it, that familiar sting of ice settling in his chest, like the spikes of some rare exotic bird unfurling in his lungs ready to strike him at any moment. A strange thing anxiety, he’s never sure of the form it will take, some days he can’t breathe, other moments it’s like a heart attack or pins and needles in his hands. Sometimes sickness or he daren’t leave the bathroom because his own gut is attacking him.</p>
<p>“It’s about time you stepped up.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He looked up at that, felt his throat close. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Took on some more responsibility – I know you’ve got this pathetic idea that the three of you will reign together like some fucking Disney fairy-tale shite….”</p>
<p>
  <em>How did he know that? The only people to know of that idea were Kendall, Shiv and Gerri.</em>
</p>
<p>“…But I ain’t going anywhere yet pal, so we can settle down on that front.”</p>
<p>“Dad.”</p>
<p>Logan held up his hand, “Wait. Wait until I’ve finished, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say.”</p>
<p>That didn’t help the trapped air in his lungs. He jabbed his nails into his leg under the table, focussed on the distraction as Logan spoke.</p>
<p>“We need to expand, globally, we’re in London, Tokyo, usual suspects. I say we go where they don’t expect it, we get in early in moving societies, ones that will be big players in the next ten years.”</p>
<p>“Okay, sounds legit.”</p>
<p>“Good. Glad we agree. You’ll be researching to start with of course, laying the foundations, ground work, all that bollocks. Then if we feel there’s a deal to be made I’ll advise you to make an offer. But it’s important you study how they work first, get an idea of the lay of the land, how their media industry functions – it’s gonna be fucking different to the cesspit we live in here so you gotta keep your nose clean, stay sharp, focussed, drain out every sinew of useful information until their bled dry and we can make a quick, sharp kill.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Dad, that uh all sounds great, you know, drain the fucking blood of the lot of them, yeah. But erm, where, where am I studying again?”</p>
<p>“Russia.”</p>
<p>He tugged at his shirt collar, “Err, ex-excuse me.”</p>
<p>“They’re moving, great big cultural and global shifts, we need to be in on it early, get in first base and fucking inch your way inside until she’s moaning your fucking name and begging for you to go the whole way – right.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that makes me feel kinda uncomfortable, Dad, if I’m honest.”</p>
<p>“You always were a pussy.” Logan smeared his toast with pate and snapped it in half with his front teeth.</p>
<p>“I know we’re like discussing business here Dad and that’s great, you know, I really wanna get deeper into all this and be, you know, an asset and everything. But Russia is pretty fucking… that’s some distance. Uh. Gerri. I mean.”</p>
<p>“She’s working here. You’ll report to Frank as usual. You don’t need some babysitter wiping your fucking arse over there, you can handle it on your own, it’s a fucking low-key fact-finding mission Roman, you’re like some intern or something, information, that’s what we need.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and I get that Dad. But it’s not what I, uh, meant, you see Gerri and I, we’re getting married.”</p>
<p>Logan dropped his knife to his plate, bit into the second slide of toast, “I didn’t throw that party for the fucking sugar plum fairy, Roman.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. So Russia is kind of –,”</p>
<p>“Are you getting married tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Next week?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Next fucking month?”</p>
<p>Roman shook his head.</p>
<p>“Right then, so I’m sure you can remove yourself from Gerri’s vagina for long enough to do your job, yeah.”</p>
<p>He nodded, like a petulant chastised schoolboy, felt his phone buzz in his pocket as his assistant replied.</p>
<p>“She might be glad of the fucking rest from your whining,” Logan added, “we all might.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Friday night and she works late; they’re nights she’s used to, not leaving until the building is dark and she’s trudging along the corridors towards the elevator regretting her choice of shoes for the day. It’s nothing new. Not leaving until she can safely say she’s on top of things. And besides things are bound to ramp up now Christmas is well and truly gone. But there’s been a subtle shift in her demeanour over the past year, maybe even longer, eighteen months, the feeling of not wanting to work all of the time whereas previously it has been her lifeblood. Her passion. Now there’s this pull to be at home, to be going out to dinner, or a play or dancing somewhere. It’s the first time she can recall her social life taking precedence. And the first time in forever she can actually be confident in saying she has a personal life.</p>
<p>But Roman is out that night, dinner with his father, which in itself is unusual. He’s been nervous ever since the email came in, jittering about the apartment. She was glad it was only a three-day warning, she’s not sure she could have coped with many 4a.m wake-ups as he disappears to the gym to ‘burn off some energy.’</p>
<p>She thinks of Roman and Logan dining at Eleven Madison Park in the back of the chauffeured car, remembers the last time she went and the steak Roman persuaded her into and her tummy grumbles. She hasn’t eaten all day; her assistant brought in a sandwich around 1 and that ended up in the trash two hours later. She taps on her phone, orders Italian take-out, for the briefest moment remembers being single and every night being like this. Or close to. There’s something nostalgic about sitting on the couch watching the news with it though, her feet on the coffee table, laughing at something and accidentally spilling sauce on her blouse, dumping it into the wash basket and changing into her pyjamas. She pours another glass of red and settles onto the couch with an old film, something he’d complain throughout, and it’s nice for a moment to just be alone and pleasing herself.</p>
<p>When she wakes the bed beside is empty, he usually clings to her like a limpet so it’s obvious now when she wakes without him. She pulls a cardigan around her and heads into the den where he’s hiding beneath a blanket on the couch.</p>
<p>“Hi honey, I didn’t hear you come in.” She whispers, not quite close enough to see if he’s awake or not, but then the light from the television catches his face and she can see his eyes staring glassily at the screen. “It’s after three.”</p>
<p>“I wake you?”</p>
<p>His absence did, but she shakes her head, “No.” A tilt of her head, arms folded across her stomach, “You okay?”</p>
<p>He rolls languidly onto his back then, blinking up at her, and he has that expression she can never read, try as she might.</p>
<p>“Come watch this with me.”</p>
<p>It’s late and she’s tired but she says neither of these things because clearly something is wrong – an evening with Logan can do that – and instead she shifts his legs with a heavy annoyed sigh up so she can sit. No sooner has she dropped his feet to her lap  than he turns, twisting his body in half it seems as he flips from one side of the couch to the other, brusquely pushing his head into her lap instead, face down against her thighs as he breathes in.</p>
<p>Hesitantly she touches his head, threads the fingers of one hand into the fine strands and strokes it out. The other hand is tentative on the back of his neck, thumb working in circles.</p>
<p>“You want to talk to me?”</p>
<p>“Did you know?” He mumbles against her; she can feel his hot damp breath against the silk of her leg.</p>
<p>“Know what?”</p>
<p>“You know what.”</p>
<p>“Clearly not,” but her mind is racing at which piece of information he could be referring to because she knows a lot of things, she doesn’t always share them all. “Roman, don’t be difficult.”</p>
<p>He huffs at that, like a petulant kid as he turns himself over, looking at up her.</p>
<p>“You’re tired.” He states, scrutinising her face.</p>
<p>“I was sleeping. What’s going on.”</p>
<p>“Russia.”</p>
<p>She shrugs at that, because yes she knows Logan had floated the idea of establishing a channel over there, but as far as she knew it was yet another one of his whimsical fancies.</p>
<p>“You know, fucking batshit idea of getting us doing the news over there.”</p>
<p>“He was stuck on that tonight?”</p>
<p>“I’ve got my marching orders, bitch,” he saluted her, voice jovial, but then his eyes clouded grey and her hand stills in his hair. “He’s sending me over, no discussion, I’m the link man, you know. Research. Get in at the ground floor. Build foundations. Establish relationships.”</p>
<p>She winced at his imitation of Logan’s voice.</p>
<p>“How long for?” She finally said.</p>
<p>“Who knows,” he briefly closed his eyes, “weeks. Months. You’re telling me you didn’t know?”</p>
<p>“Roman…” her voice is annoyed.</p>
<p>“Argh!” He jerks away from her then, getting to his feet, “Sorry, just fucking being with him messes with my head, you know.”</p>
<p>She suddenly feels cold, tucks her feet beneath her as she listens to him rant, until he exhausts himself pacing back and forth, gesticulating, complaining.</p>
<p>When he finally stops she breathes, twists her mouth as she watches him come down from his outburst.</p>
<p>“Okay.” She starts. “Well, it could be a useful thing.”</p>
<p>“Huh, okay, right. How you figure?”</p>
<p>“Because he picked you, not Kendall, not Shiv. This could be a massive deal, I mean Christ, Russia!”</p>
<p>“Dad says it’s a transition period over there, transformation, I don’t know. An opportunity.”</p>
<p>“It is. I mean, see the positives, yes, this is a huge thing for you. A huge deal to be had.”</p>
<p>He dug his hands into his pockets and she realised he was still wearing his trousers from dinner. “I’ve been fucking lying here for hours reading on my phone, it’s insane there, I mean, insane compared to our life here. These websites blocked for taking the fucking piss out of the state, like journalists just disappear, motherfucking disappear, Gerri. And I’m going over there? Me who can’t keep a fucking straight face for more than ten minutes in a meeting cos I get bored.”</p>
<p>“That’s not true. And you’re thinking of extremes. Your father wouldn’t risk you; I mean this is an international –,”</p>
<p>“What do you mean? What do you know?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, I know nothing.” She insisted, and it was true actually, she knew very little about this, and bothered her really because Logan wouldn’t usually keep something this big from her. Maybe she was slipping. Losing her place in the game</p>
<p>“He must have a plan.” She stated. “He always does, Roman.”</p>
<p>“It’s not hard to figure out what the old tyrant’s plan is neither, is it, really…?” He let the words rest, heavy, his shoulders slumped.</p>
<p>“You think it’s because of…”</p>
<p>“Us. I think it’s to pack me off again, just like a kid, shove me off there and hope I hook up with some stepford wife Melania type –,”</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but smirk at that.</p>
<p>“– And forget you, yeah. Postpone the wedding.”</p>
<p>“That would be pretty difficult, we’ve not even set a date.”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean.”</p>
<p>She did and it worried her too but she wasn’t about to let him know that. “Roman, come on, you might be out there for like three weeks for all you know.”</p>
<p>“Not the way he was speaking. He’s thinking months, like six months he floated, maybe a year. A fucking year. I can’t be out there for a year.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he means like travel back and forth for a year.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t bastard mean travel back and forth!”</p>
<p>“What are you shouting at me for?!”</p>
<p>“Because I’m fucking angry. Yeah. I’m angry and I can’t tell him that, or show that.”</p>
<p>“So you shout at me?”</p>
<p>“No!” He shouted again and then stopped himself, looked to the ceiling and then back at her. “No, I don’t mean to.” He shrugged his shoulders and she thought how small he looked then. Young. “I’m kinda scared.”</p>
<p>“Okay. But you’ll be fine, safety wise, nothing is going, nobody would risk that, such a massive international… I mean if he were sending me on the other hand, the background, I could conveniently disappear.”</p>
<p>He laughed at her tone, found her smiling at him.</p>
<p>“Sorry for being a jerk.”</p>
<p>“I’m kinda used to it by now.”</p>
<p>“Gee thanks.”</p>
<p>She patted the couch beside her and he returned to his earlier position, let her stroke his hair, press a kiss to his temple.</p>
<p>“I meant more scared of doing the job.”</p>
<p>“I know. But that too will be fine. You’ll see. Maybe you’re ready for doing something alone, tackling something like this. Could be the making of your position, you’ll see.” She kissed his forehead. “He didn’t send Kendall,” she said again and his eyes caught hers then, glinted with something. “Good to make global links, as I said at that party. And you can travel easily to Europe, meet up with friends.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he sounded hopeful at that, reached to hold her free hand, pressing it between both of his and staring at the size and shape of her fingers against his. “You won’t be there, though.”</p>
<p>“No. But we can facetime every day, if you like.”</p>
<p>“Do I get the dirty sex calls back?”</p>
<p>She momentarily screwed up her mouth but then said lightly, “If you like. And besides, you get to do ridiculously silly things on a snowboard or some shit without your overbearing fiancée trying to keep you grounded.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he huffed, closed his eyes, “kinda like you keeping me grounded though.”</p>
<p>“A-ha, me too.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that I’m horny all the time, it’s just that you’re always fucking sexy.”</p>
<p>“A-ha…” she said again. “You wanna go to bed?”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” he turned his head to the screen, “watch this with me, for a bit.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>There was snow on the ground when she headed out for brunch and she kind of regretted not calling for the car, but she’d been adamant she’d walk the few blocks to the coffee shop – it was rare she walked anyway these days, rarer still she had a moment of peace to herself and she enjoyed being invisible in the city for a change, snuggled inside her hat and scarf, the ice in the wind whipping her face. There was something pleasant about it even though the ends of her fingers tingled with the cold by the time she reached her destination.</p>
<p>Her daughters were already seated when she arrived, both rose to greet her, pressed kisses to her chapped cheeks.</p>
<p>“That’s a stretch, mom.” Maisie said as Gerri tugged off her leather gloves.</p>
<p>“It’s no good being jealous,” Gerri sighed, flexing her fingers, “besides one day you might just get this ring.”</p>
<p>“Huh, I’m first born, I get first pick on the decent jewels.” Blair insisted.</p>
<p>“Tough. She offered it to me, this counts as a verbal contract.”</p>
<p>Gerri opened her menu, “So nice to think even on the event of my death you two will still argue. Besides, he might buy me another one on our tenth anniversary. One each.”</p>
<p>“Tenth anniversary,” Blair laughed.</p>
<p>“Don’t mock, this a long-haul thing. Did you order coffee?”</p>
<p>“Yes, a pot of,” Blair said, “and everyone gets married planning for the long-haul, doesn’t mean it lasts.”</p>
<p>“Says the girl who’s getting married next month.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but –,”</p>
<p>Gerri’s eyes widened as she closed her menu, “<em>But</em> what? Are we approaching this differently?”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Maisie said, “you know normal families start brunch with pleasantries and get into the needle-picking after at least one cup of coffee and a bagel.”</p>
<p>“There’s no such thing as normal,” Gerri said, “but seriously, Blair,” she paused as their coffee arrived, “I resent the implication.”</p>
<p>“It was only a joke, ma.”</p>
<p>“Really?” She shook her head in disbelief, “You think he’ll get bored?”</p>
<p>“Do <em>you </em>think he’ll get bored?” Blair pressed.</p>
<p>“No,” she held her coffee cup on both hands, glaring over the top of it as she sipped it. “Please don’t mention our ages again or make any snide comments about –,”</p>
<p>“Mom, neither of us did. You seem to be the one hung up on it.”</p>
<p>She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, “Logan’s sending him to Russia.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Why?”</p>
<p>“Work,” she shrugged, “told him last night over dinner.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t Roman nearly forty,” Maisie said, “doesn’t he have a choice?”</p>
<p>Gerri pursed her lips, avoided giving a direct answer for her expression made it clear.</p>
<p>“He’ll be back for the wedding?” Blair asked.</p>
<p>“I guess, hopefully he can fly in to DC for a couple of days, otherwise I’ll need a new date.”</p>
<p>“Bring that Frank,” Blair teased, “or better still come with Simon.”</p>
<p>“I could,” she tapped her fingers against her cup, “Poor guy, I know what, well, I guess all three of us know what it’s like.”</p>
<p>“Like waiting for someone to die you mean?”</p>
<p>“Blair, Christ.” Maisie said.</p>
<p>“Well, we were, weren’t we, at the end.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but you don’t have to be so fucking raw about it, like, that’s our father.”</p>
<p>“Haven’t they been married for over forty years?” Blair said instead.</p>
<p>“Closer to fifty, I think,” Gerri said, “met when they were only young. He’s in his seventies, remember. Closer to your father than to me. But yes, as harsh as it is, when they reach a certain point, hope gone, the inevitable ending… He doesn’t want her to suffer anymore.” She put her cup down, spoke gently. “You’ll come to the funeral with me, when it happens?”</p>
<p>“Course,” Blair said.</p>
<p>She ran her hand through her hair, “I can hardly remember your father’s.”</p>
<p>“You were in no-nonsense mode,” Blair said, “everything organised, everything slotting into place, marching about.”</p>
<p>“I remember your heels,” Maisie said absently, “I remember sitting in the kitchen after and the sound of your heels marching back and forth. And that I slept in your bed that night, I was lying there watching you take your pearls off and you laid beside me and I must have fallen to sleep because when I woke up you’d tucked me in and were asleep beside me.”</p>
<p>Gerri smiled at that, “I remember that too. I was glad of the company.” She briefly touched Maisie’s hand where it lay on the table, “you do know I loved your father very much. I know you two often see me as some harsh, snappy money-driven Waystar robot…”</p>
<p>“We know, mom,” Blair said, “the other stuff’s all true though.”</p>
<p>“Oh thank you for that!” She laughed, “I think we should order some food and shift this maudlin atmosphere.” She twisted her engagement ring as she scanned the menu. “I might abandon my diet and order pancakes.”</p>
<p>“You’re not on a diet?” Maisie laughed.</p>
<p>“I’ve got the dress for your sister’s wedding to get into next month and I rather overindulged at Christmas, so, back to the gym and salads. Living with Roman is no use, he eats what he wants and at odd times.”</p>
<p>“See, when he’s in Russia you won’t have him as an excuse.”</p>
<p>“That’s true, hadn’t thought of that. Let’s all have pancakes, and a big bowl of fruit and whipped cream on the side like your father used to serve up every Birthday for you.”</p>
<p>“God yes, even when we were nasty teens and permanently obsessing about our figures. Can I try it on?” Maisie asked, reaching to Gerri’s ring. “Test out the weight of it.”</p>
<p>“No way!” Blair laughed, “Besides you’re not the favourite any more, Roman is, he gets away with more than we ever did.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Gerri exclaimed, “in what… how?”</p>
<p>“You’re far more lenient and indulgent with him than with anyone I’ve ever known you with.”</p>
<p>“He’s hardly my child, don’t insinuate that.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t call you mommy in bed?” Maisie teased, leaning over to Gerri.</p>
<p>“Fuck off the pair of you, that’s disgusting, no he doesn’t. Christ.”</p>
<p>They were both laughing at her as she ordered their food, giggling into their napkins, and as much as she disliked the implication, it was good to hear them having fun together, it seemed such a rarity to be in their presence and things be relaxed and pleasant.</p>
<p>“So, you’re ready for everything?” Gerri asked later as they ate. “Don’t need me to do anything?”</p>
<p>“Honestly, mom, you’ve been amazing so thank you for that, but really I think everything is taken care of now, should all run smoothly.”</p>
<p>“Unless mom can’t fit into her dress.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, unless that,” Gerri refilled her coffee cup. “Then I need to think about my own dress.”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna wear white?”</p>
<p>“I doubt that very much. Black maybe. Like my soul.”</p>
<p>“Very fucking funny,” Blair said, “it’s kinda thawed though hasn’t it, your frozen heart, black soul, you can admit that to us secretly here.”</p>
<p>“Do you find it so amusing, that some scrawny rich kid has somehow wheedled his way into your mother’s heart?”</p>
<p>“Honestly mom, what amazes me more is the fact you’re willing to admit he has. You’ve never been the emotional kind.”</p>
<p>“I’m still not.”</p>
<p>Maisie hummed and leant back in her chair, “Yeah, course not.”</p>
<p>“I’m not.”</p>
<p>“You’re getting married to him, mom, that’s not to be taken lightly given the context of who Gerri Kellman is. And you’re clearly upset about him heading to Russia.”</p>
<p>“How’d you figure that, I never said –?”</p>
<p>“Tone of voice,” Maisie said, “attitude.”</p>
<p>Gerri huffed, “I’m just used to having him around is all.”</p>
<p>Blair glanced at Maisie, leaning forward to snatch a strawberry from the fruit bowl, “Do we get to be bridesmaids.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’ll be that kind of wedding.”</p>
<p>“More low-key, civil ceremony?”</p>
<p>Gerri shrugged, “We haven’t really discussed it; Roman said ‘big’, cos he’s never done it before.”</p>
<p>“That’s what you get marrying a billionaire, everything has to be grand.”</p>
<p>“Christ I hadn’t thought of that,” Maisie exclaimed, “Mom marrying a billionaire, do you sign a pre-nup?”</p>
<p>“I’d advise him to, as unromantic as that seems.” Gerri said. “Anyway how much longer you gonna be in New York?”</p>
<p>Maisie shrugged, “Not decided. Is it a problem?”</p>
<p>“Not at all. But I am having the apartment re-modelled, just in case I do decide to sell. So contractors will be going in soon.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“I can put you up in a hotel,” Gerri offered, “or, you know, with Roman away, you’re welcome to come stay with me.”</p>
<p>“Do I get to use his fancy gym, pool, sauna, ice-cream machine, private chef…?”</p>
<p>“Fuck, yes, god. I sometimes think you’re still thirteen.”</p>
<p>“That’s because she enjoys playing on that, I gotta go to the bathroom before we leave, excuse me.”</p>
<p>Gerri watched as Maisie toyed with the straw in her glass, twirling it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, one leg crossed over the other, converse-clad foot swinging in the air. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“Something’s bothering you, you’ve been silent most of brunch, which isn’t you, you’re usually all that mouth.”</p>
<p>“Gee thanks.”</p>
<p>Gerri noted the unruly blonde curls, messier than usual, clearly she’d gotten ready in a rush.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to pass judgement mother.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t.”</p>
<p>“If you want me outta the apartment –,”</p>
<p>Gerri held her hand up, “I would never. But they are booked in… Would it be that much of a hardship, staying with me?”</p>
<p>“You think he’ll be away that long?”</p>
<p>“Who knows,” she shrugged, “maybe.”</p>
<p>“Seriously though, you worried about that?”</p>
<p>“Roman being away or Roman being in Russia?”</p>
<p>“Both.”</p>
<p>“The former, no,” she snatched the bill from the middle of the table, “he daren’t cheat. The latter… I don’t know, I assume Logan has plans otherwise he wouldn’t be sending him but it’s odd, he’s kept it all very close to his chest.” She didn’t like that, not being involved in big decisions like that, not being in the loop. It left her with some bitter, unsettling feeling she wasn’t accustomed to and yet since she’d started this thing with Roman she’d walked that particular tight line many times over. “You wanna walk for a bit, around the park, before we part?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure, be nice, the three of us.” Maisie pushed her chair back, “Before everything changes.”</p>
<p>“Changes?”</p>
<p>“Marriage. Changes everything, right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When she returned to the apartment, she found Roman still in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hanging over the side of the sofa and staring at the floor.</p>
<p>“Hey,” She called from the hall, throwing her keys onto the table, shrugging off her slightly damp coat and wandering through to where the sound of the television came from.</p>
<p>“Hey lobster.” He mumbled.</p>
<p>“What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“Just contemplating the end of my existence.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Whilst watching day time shit?”</p>
<p>“Course. How was brunch?”</p>
<p>“Good. I ate carbs.” She folded her arms over her stomach as she stared down at him.</p>
<p>He looked up at that, “Christ, how come?”</p>
<p>She pulled a face, perched on the edge of the coffee table, “The realisation of losing my fuck buddy maybe.”</p>
<p>“I knew the great sex I provide is the only reason you want me.”</p>
<p>“I have never hidden that fact.”</p>
<p>“Can you get me out of it?”</p>
<p>She frowned.</p>
<p>“Russia. Can you get me out of Russia?”</p>
<p>She pursed her lips at that, “I wouldn’t. I told you I think it could be good.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.” He looked away again, digging his chin into the cushion. “Good for me to be fucked over.”</p>
<p>She searched for the television remote, muting the volume.</p>
<p>“Hey, I was watching that.”</p>
<p>“This it for the day? This your plan? Lay around here feeling sorry for yourself?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry, am I meant to be doing shit?”</p>
<p>“You could at least get dressed, shower.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck’s the point when, you know, I plan on staying right here in this position? Besides, you always moan about the amount of shit I put in my hair, so here, this is natural Roman being a prick. Alright. Love it or leave it.”</p>
<p>“Yes well,” she brushed her hands across her legs, got to her feet, “don’t be a prick with me though. I’ll go put some coffee on, did you eat anything today yet?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, returned to staring at the carpet but looked up sharply when she said, “I’ll make you some eggs.”</p>
<p>“You will? Will you do it how I like, runny yolks and all?”</p>
<p>“Yes honey,” she touched his hair, forced him to lift his head up and smiled when he kissed her palm, sat his chin in it and looked up at her with wide dark eyes. It was so easy to be gentle with him, too easy; maybe her daughters were right, maybe she did give him an easy ride. “You’re right though, I like your hair better without all the shit in it.”</p>
<p>“I wanna just stay here, hang out with you all the time.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and that’s all very nice, but then there’s real life – it can’t be a permanent holiday – and that means work, commitments.”</p>
<p>“But what if –?”</p>
<p>“–Why start with what ifs?” she interrupted. “This could be good for you; you could be good at it. Don’t childishly sulk, see it as an opportunity, yeah? Like you’re always saying you want him to take you seriously, well, maybe this is the moment for it.”</p>
<p>That stung; somewhere he understood she said this to be kind, that it was her way of helping or easing his nerves, but the neurotic side of his brain (the louder one) only heard her chastising a child, wanting him out of the way or to prove himself as worthy, prove he was as much of a man as his father.</p>
<p>“The girls want to be bridesmaids,” she said as she headed away from him, “how about that!” She laughed as she disappeared into the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, they know something we don’t?”</p>
<p>“For instance?” She called back.</p>
<p>“As if any fucking wedding is gonna happen when I’m on the other side of the world?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, carrying in his coffee, “it’s for like three, four weeks, you’ll be coming back before you know it for Blair’s wedding.” She paused for a moment, placed down his cup, felt her heart pull tight as she looked at him lying there. “You will be fine, Roman, you survived management training, you can survive this.</p>
<p>He flopped face down onto the sofa the moment she left the room, closed his eyes, tried to force his brain to be logical and clear thinking like hers was. To be cool and calm about things. But this was Roman Roy, his brain moved too fast for contemplation. And the only thing he could really focus on was that there was going to be almost 5000 miles between himself and Gerri.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Major apologies for the long delay - basically posting gives me anxiety and panic attacks and when they started to get bad I just took time off from it - but GR's story still goes on in my head.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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